The truth will set you free
by Solomynne
Summary: What starts out as a regular case for Sara turns into something much darker, and goes a lot higher up than anyone expects. GSR please read and review.
1. New beginnings

_Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't want to. All rights are solely that of CBS._

_A/N: Okay guys, this is my first attempt at writing fanfic, or anything for that matter, so bear with me, and for the love of God, please review! I won't get better without your help, so PLEASE leave some feedback. I hope you enjoy it, and if you don't, well you're entitled. Love on you, -Solomynne._

The smell of death is a funny thing.

It's never how you would expect it to be. At least not how Sara ever expected it to be. A mixture of the metallic smell of blood, and the sickly sweet aroma of rotting flesh, it's a scent that is not easily forgotten. Or easily washed out of clothing for that matter, as she had learned the hard way. (The local drycleaners presently refuses to accept her business) But in her line of work it's something that, although you never get used to, you at least come to expect.

Having been on the job for nearly a decade, Sara had learned to use the stench of a decaying corpse as a valuable tool: the stronger the smell, the longer the shift. Crude, and yet somehow it always seemed to be fairly accurate. And judging by the nearly palpable stench emanating from her latest crime scene, Sara estimated that it was going to be a very long night indeed. Stifling a yawn, she headed towards the dilapidated building where she knew her boss Grissom was waiting for her arrival. It had been her night off, which was a rarity in itself, as she usually found some excuse or other to put in for overtime; but what was even stranger was the fact that she had actually been enjoying herself. Normally, she didn't like to be sedentary for any extended period of time. She found her mind had the tendency to wander places both past and present that she'd rather not be thinking of. Which is one of the reasons she enjoyed working so much, it kept her occupied.

But tonight, quite possibly just from sheer exhaustion, she had ended up on her apartment balcony with a glass of wine, watching the sunset. Norah Jones drifting out through her sliding glass door, and a warm, gentle breeze playing with her dark hair, she closed her amber eyes to the soft pink glow of the setting sun, allowing it to wash over her. She could hear in the distance the never-ending movement of cars and people making their way down the strip, but they may as well have been miles away as far as she was concerned.

That is, until her cell phone woke her like a slap across the face. Nearly spilling her wine, she lunged for the chirruping phone and flipped it open with her thumb.

"Sidle."

She knew exactly who it was, she had call display, but for some reason this was just the way she did things. With him, anyway.

"Sara, it's Grissom. Listen, I know it's your night off, but--"

"-It's fine," she cut him off, "Where do you need me?" The last pink embers of the fading sun dancing across her face, she wondered if he would ever call her for a reason other than to ask her to come and help peel some evidence off of a stinking corpse.

"We've got a DB in an abandoned building off Freemont Street."

Guess not. 

"The one behind the Strato, you know it?"

"I'm sure I'll find it," she replied, upending the remainder of her wine into the potted plant that she'd been meaning to water.

"How soon can you be here?" he asked, his voice expectant.

"Give me half an hour, I need to grab a shower."

There was silence on the end of the line and for a moment, Sara smiled to herself, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about what she hoped he was.

"Sounds good, see you then."

Snapping the phone shut with a flip of her wrist, she got up and stretched. Leaning against the balcony, she closed her eyes one last time and drew in a deep breath. Holding it for a beat, she exhaled slowly and turned back into her apartment. Norah Jones was still playing in the background, her smoky voice penetrating the silence:

" _The lo-o-o-ng day is o-o-o-o-ver…."_

Sighing, Sara flipped the "off" switch on her CD player and headed for the bathroom.

"I wish."

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Twenty-nine minutes later, Sara was pulling up to a rotting brown building that, according to the mangled sign out front, used to be a strip joint called "The Red Baron's". Having long ago been abandoned, the vacated club looked like it had been the home to just about every vagrant in Vegas. Sliding out of the driver's seat, Sara reached for her kit and headed inside, eyes already watering from the unmistakable smell of a decomposing body. Spotting Detective Brass in the doorway, she called out, "Hey! What've we got?"

Turning to the familiar sound of her husky voice, the bulldog-faced policeman looked at her with a grim expression. "Jane Doe, looks like she's in her early twenties, tossed in an oil drum and left for the rats. David's with the body now."

Looking to where the young coroner stood with Grissom and another woman, Sara made eye contact with David and smiled, walking over. "So who found the body?"

Grissom, forgoing as she had, any greeting, responded, "There's a soup kitchen three blocks over. Some of the volunteers noticed the smell and called it in."

Leaning over to get a better look at the contents of the barrel, Sara asked, "Any idea how long she's been here?" David looked up from his hunched position over the oil drum and Sara got a glimpse of a small body, curled into an unnatural position, face turned upwards. Pleading. Her skin was waxy and sallow. Sara had seen it before. Too long in a confined space and the body began to turn…soupy.

"Hard to say," replied David, bringing her back to the question. "She was sealed in here pretty tight. I'll know more once we get her back to the morgue."

Turning her attention to the woman standing to the left of Grissom, Sara was about to introduce herself when she noted the look on the woman's face. She had turned a ghostly white, pressing her lips together in an obvious effort to keep herself from throwing up. Grissom, not noticing that his young charge was on the verge of introducing her dinner to his favorite pair of Doc Martins, turned to Sara. "Sara, this is Joslyn Grace. Joslyn, this is Sara Sidle, the one you'll be working with. Joslyn's training to be a CSI over at LVU, and she's been chosen as the candidate for the new apprenticeship program. She'll be shadowing you for a while."

Ignoring her irritation at Grissom throwing this at her without any warning, and not taking her eyes off the girl who had begun to sway on her feet, she asked, "Apprenticeship program?"

"Yeah, it's a way for forensic students to get hands-on training, really allow themselves an in-depth look at what they'll be getting themselves into. Joslyn here was ranked top in her class at Yale, and relocated to LVU this semester."

"Well, I think it's best if Joslyn and I 'relocate' ourselves outside for a moment so she can get some fresh air," she said quickly, putting a hand out to steady the girl and guiding her outside. The cool night air brushed their skin. Joslyn, out of Grissom's earshot, finally allowed herself to let out a choking cough. Leaning against the crumbling wood for support, she drew in great gulps of air. Sara placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "It's okay, just take a slow, deep breath. You don't want to start hyperventilating, okay?" Joslyn complied, slowly drawing in a deep breath of air and holding it, looking to Sara as if to say, "Now what?"

Half amused, and half pitying, Sara let out a soft laugh and said, "Okay, let it out."

Joslyn expended the breath and leaned her head back against the wall. Closing her eyes, she spoke for the first time, in a voice that was deeper than Sara had expected. "Wow. That was embarrassing. They ought to take away my position in this program and give it to someone with a stronger stomach."

Sara smiled, taking the opportunity to survey the young woman. She was short, maybe 5 4' at the most, with dirty blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders. Her almond shaped eyes were a green that Sara had been able to see sparkling, even in the darkness. She had a small, pointed nose that gave her an almost elfin look. It was hard to judge her age, but Sara estimated that she couldn't be much older than 23. Normally, she would have been annoyed at learning she had to baby-sit some rookie; after all she already had Sanders to deal with. But for some reason, as she watched Joslyn leaning against the wall, her breathing slowly becoming more even, she couldn't help but remember how scared she had been at her first crime scene, and she began to feel some empathy towards the girl.

Sensing she should say something reassuring, Sara searched the depths of her memory banks for something appropriate to the situation. She had never been very good at comforting people, mostly because in her line of work she tends to be meeting people on the worst day of their lives. Giving an "I'm sorry for your loss" to a woman who had just lost her child always sounded so stupid to her. Empty words. She was so sick of them.

"Don't be embarrassed, it happens to everyone at their first scene, honestly. And the fact that this is the worst decomp I've seen in years can't have helped much." The girl opened her eyes and looked at Sara, giving her a weak smile. Sara gave her her own signature gap-toothed one back and leaned against the wall beside her. "And don't worry about Grissom docking you marks on your evaluation for it, he doesn't work like that."

Watching Sara as the moonlight reflected against her pale skin, Joslyn seemed to come to the conclusion that she was going to like working with her. She turned her eyes back to the night sky and asked, "So how _does_ he work then?"

Sara was silent for a moment, trying to find the right words, and then realized that she didn't have them. "That's a very good question." A siren wailed in the distance.

"So he's complicated?" she asked, looking back to the tall brunette.

"_Oh_ yes. Just when you think you have him figured out…" Sara stopped, realizing she was probably revealing more than she should. Joslyn, noting her hesitation, tactfully lightened the mood. "Yeah, I figured he was a different sort when the first words he said to me were 'Nice to meet you, may I take a pint of your blood?'"

The two women laughed, both faces showing mirroring sets of dimples. Grissom stepped outside and broke the moment, "Sorry to interrupt the fun, but if we're all feeling okay out here, there's a crime scene to process." Sara rolled her eyes at Joslyn, missing the smug look Grissom had gotten on his face as he turned back inside. He had known as soon as he met Joslyn in her interview that the two of them would get along, which was one of the reasons he'd assigned them to each other. It was nice to see that they were already getting to know one another. It was even nicer to hear Sara laughing, even if it _was_ about him.

Sara stopped before going through the door and said, "Remember, breathe through your mouth. It makes all the difference." Joslyn nodded, and armed with this new bit of information, squared her shoulders and walked back inside.

Sara, looking around for the first time saw a dilapidated stage in the center of the room. A pole lay across it, that she could only guess was at one time for the dancers. The red curtains that had hung at the entrance and exits of the stage were piled on the floor, most likely having been used as a makeshift bed. The only remnants of any tables and chairs were a few moldy bits of wood strewn around, most of them charred like they had been used for firewood. The barrel that held the victim had been stashed in the shadowy corner of the room, out of sight and out of mind, no doubt. If only it worked like that.

David had the barrel on a dolly, and inclined his head to Sara as he wheeled it outside. She casually waved a hand in his direction and continued looking around. David smiled to himself. He wasn't offended by her dismissive goodbye, knowing that she was just being Sara, just "working the scene."

Sara shivered as she continued to survey her surroundings. The whole place had this ominous feel to it, like walking through a carnival that was closed for the off-season, or sitting in movie theatre after everyone had left. It held the emotions of all the people that had been there. It gave the dark, empty feeling of a place that was once bustling with life, and was now a hollow shell. She could practically hear the echoes of drunken catcalls being shouted as the thumping beat of the music reverberated against the walls.

"Hey Sara, come check this out!" the sound of Joslyn's voice was a welcome relief from the dark images in Sara's mind. Smiling inwardly at Joslyn's excitement, she made her way to where the young CSI was kneeling, over to the left side of the empty stage.

Looking up at Sara, Joslyn moved aside to show a silver shining object crumpled on the ground. "It's a necklace," she stated as Sara kneeled beside her to get a better look. "A _broken_ necklace. And look, there's blood caught in the chain." Calling Grissom over so he could snap a picture, Sara waited until he'd finished before scooping up the necklace, letting it hang on her long fingers. It glittered dully from beneath a layer of dirt, and hanging from it dangled a small pendant: an oval shaped silver disc that had a deep pink stone set into it.

"Good find, Joslyn, I think we'll be getting some DNA off of this," she said, turning to Joslyn's beaming face. "Well, you found it, you get to bag it. Make sure it's labeled correctly and sealed tight," she said, handing the evidence over to her, letting it spill from her fingers into Joslyn's palm. Tilting her face upwards, she spoke to Grissom, "What else have we found? Anything probative?"

Grissom held a hand out to help her up, and holding onto her slender wrist for a beat longer than was necessary, he replied, "Well I found some shoeprints over near the barrel, and some bloody smears on the wall, but they looked old. They could just as easily have been from a bar fight. Judging by the lack of evidence, and the absence of any signs of a struggle, I'm starting to think that this was just the dumpsite. The actual murder must've taken place somewhere else. I'm hoping the barrel will be able to tell us where."

"Well I'll head back to the lab, see what I can get off of it," she said, bending down to pick up her kit.

"Alright, I'll meet you there. Take Joslyn with you, introduce her to everyone at the lab," he said over his shoulder as he walked back to where the caste for his shoeprints was drying.

"Okay," she called back. Joslyn stood up beside her, and carefully watched Sara watching Grissom walk away. Looking to Grissom, his gray hair shining in the moonlight that had slipped in from the window, she understood the attraction.

Not wanting to break the reverie, she quietly stood there until Sara realized she was waiting. Even in the dark, dusty light of the abandoned club, she could see the pink tinge in Sara's cheeks. "Ready to go?" said Sara, a little louder than her normal tone.

"All set." The two women walked out of the crumbling building and headed for Sara's car. Noting the look on the faces of the officers as they walked past, Sara turned to Joslyn and muttered, "I think it would be a good idea to stop by the grocery store on the way to the lab."

"What for?" asked Joslyn, raising an eyebrow.

"Lemons. Lots of lemons."

_To be continued…if you think it's worth it at all. Thanks so much for reading! –Sol._


	2. Holy Trinity

_Disclaimer: All rights are that of CBS_

_A/N So here's chapter two, I tried to make it longer, at a reviewer's suggestion. Let me know what you think, and happy reading! Hope you like it! -Solomynne_

"Lemons are a very underestimated fruit," explained Sara seriously as she and Joslyn drove along Fremont. "They're a lot more useful than you'd think."

"So what," scoffed Joslyn, "We're going to use lemons to catch our killer?"

"Hardly," retorted Sara, giving her a look as she turned off the bustling street, "but they work wonders for getting rid of stubborn smells." Joslyn, holding the two grocery bags full of lemons they'd just bought looked at her blankly and Sara continued. "Did you notice the looks we got from the officers on the way back from the scene? They were practically gagging. The smell of a decomp like that will cling to anything that comes within two feet of it. Believe me, a stench like that isn't easy to get rid of."

Unconvinced, Joslyn lifted her own wrist to her nose and smelled it tentatively. Catching Sara laughing at her, she knit her eyebrows and said, "I don't smell anything."

"Well you wouldn't. Not yet at least, we haven't spent that much time with the body yet. But by the end of shift, guaranteed no one's going to come within three feet of you. Hence, lemons."

"You sound like you speak from experience."

"More experience than I'd care to have, in fact," said Sara wryly as they pulled into the staff parking at the lab. Not noticing that Joslyn had to trot to keep up with her long strides, Sara crossed the parking lot in five steps and pushed open the glass front door. Feeling the familiar breath of the air-conditioned lab brush against her face, Sara turned to see Joslyn had stopped, hesitant. "What' s wrong?" The young woman appeared to be rooted to the spot, the warm night air blowing her blonde hair into her eyes.

"Nothing, just a little nervous I guess," she answered quietly. "I'm not really good with meeting new people." Sara gave her a reassuring smile and took a step inside.

"You'll be fine, honestly. These are good people. They don't bite. Well, most of them don't. If you meet anyone named Ecklie just back away slowly and don't make any sudden movements." Too nervous to notice Sara's attempt at comedy, Joslyn reluctantly put one foot in front of the other. The white noise of the lab washed over them as they entered: telephones ringing, machines buzzing, and coffee machines brewing. After stopping to drop off their jackets in the lockers, Sara and Joslyn headed to the break room for the dreaded introductions. People whisked past them with every step, a determined looking secretary here, a white-coated lab tech there... Everyone, it seemed, was doing something.

Everyone except the people in the break room that is. They walked in to find Greg bent down eyelevel to the coffee maker, watching each rich drop fall into the pot waiting below. Nick and Warrick were seated at the table, playing chess and waiting for Grissom to come with their assignments, and Catherine was flipping through a dated magazine with a bored look on her face. A resounding _beep_ broke the silence and Greg scooped up the steaming pot in one swift motion, pouring himself a generous cup. Holding the mug in both hands he brought it to his face and inhaled deeply, "Ahhh the sweet smell of justice. Without this stuff, none of us would be able to do our jobs, am I right?"

"Yeah, yeah, Nabob McFolgers, we get it," said Catherine dryly as she rubbed her wrist against a perfume sample in the magazine.

"Check," said Warrick smugly, knocking Nick's knight off the board.

Sara cleared her throat, and everyone turned to face the doorway. "Guys, I'd like to introduce you to someone. This is Joslyn Grace. I don't know if Grissom told you; God knows he didn't tell _me,_ but she's gonna be working with us for a while as a student. Working with me, actually."

"Nice to meet you," said Greg, swooping in with an outstretched hand, "I'm Greg Sanders". Not missing a beat, Warrick stood and introduced himself as well, followed by the others.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Greg asked, offering her a mug.

"Yeah, I'd love one," she responded, warming to him. She bent down to place her kit on the ground, giving the guys a chance to give her a once over. Catherine swatted at Greg, who was pretending to have burned his finger on Joslyn's ass, mouthing the word "hot" to a laughing Nick and Warrick. Sara, shooting him a venomous look, pulled up a chair and sat down.

"What's up?" asked Catherine raising her eyebrows. "I thought you already had a case, something about a girl in an oil drum?"

"Yeah, well we have to wait for David to extract her from it before we can start processing. He should be beeping me any minute." As if on cue, the black beeper strapped to her hip started to wail. Plucking it off the waist of her jeans, she glanced at the message and stood up. "Well, sorry to cut this short but we've get a date with David in the morgue. Looks like he's got something for us. Jos?" she said, turning to her new companion who'd curled up on the couch.

"Yeah," she responded, setting down the steaming mug and reaching for her kit. Greg, with a speed previously only known to Superman, came to help her up. He placed an a hand on her back in an unnecessary attempt to keep her steady. "Thanks," she said, looking up at him shyly.

"No problem," he said, handing her her kit. Taking it, she followed Sara out the door and towards the morgue, unaware of the four sets of eyes burning into her back.

"Wow, she's really something," said Greg, spinning to face the others.

"Yeah, she was cute," said Warrick, amused.

"Cute? No; cute is a puppy dog that just licked your face. This girl was gorgeous; did you see those green eyes? They were killer!" he panted, seating himself beside Warrick. "Nick, what did you think?"

"I think she's too young for you," replied Nick, not looking up from his game of chess. Unperturbed, Greg turned to Catherine, expectant. She glanced up from the article she was reading, replying only with a: "I think it best if you stick to your Blue Hawaiian Coffee."

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Over in the dim blue light of the morgue, Sara and Joslyn were donning a pair of white cotton masks at David's request. The sterile smell of the equipment fought for dominance with the ghastly odor of the young corpse that lay on the cold steel, still curled into the shape of the oil barrel.

"As if these will make a difference," whispered Joslyn conspiratorially, helping Sara tie her mask on. "That smell could seep through a lead wall."

"I think it's more of a biohazard issue," responded Sara, her voice muffled through the thin material. A thought striking her, Sara turned to face Joslyn and regarded her for a moment.

"What is it?" asked Joslyn, catching her eye.

"Is this your first autopsy?" questioned Sara. Joslyn looked up at her, her green eyes glittering over the top of her mask like emeralds.

"I was sick with the flu the day my class went on the fieldtrip to the morgue."

"So that's a yes," said Sara.

Joslyn nodded in agreement, "I've never been a squeamish person though. Well…not including earlier today, anyway. I don't think I'll have a problem."

Although Joslyn couldn't see it through the mask, Sara was characteristically pursing her lips in a sarcastic smile. "We'll see," she teased. Joslyn nudged her playfully as they walked over to David.

"So, what have you got for us?" asked Sara as David and his assistant each took a grip on the young victim, he with her forearms, his partner with her ankles.

"Well," he started, "I noted some scratches on her arms, and some other fibers wedged in her palm. I documented the scratches and sent the fibers to trace, but I thought you might like to give her a look over before we began the autopsy." With that, he nodded to his assistant, and they began to pull. With a series of popping noises and some grunts from the two men, they managed to straighten out the body into a regular lying position. Sara glanced at Joslyn, whose face (what she could see of it at least) was transfixed in an expression of horror.

"Sorry, I probably should've warned you about that," she said apologetically. Joslyn, eyes wide as saucers, simply shook her head to assure that she was fine.

Sara decided to take her word for it, and leaned in to get a closer look. "Can you turn her head for me please?" she asked. David reached out, twisting her head so Sara could get a view of the back of the neck. "Jos, come look at this," she said, beckoning to Joslyn with her hand. Joslyn, a little reluctantly, came closer to the slab and leaned her head down to see what Sara was looking at. "Do you see this?" asked Sara, pointing to a red cut on the vic's neck. "What does that look like to you?"

Resisting the urge to gag from the close proximity, Joslyn squinted. "The marks are strange, there's a pattern in the indentation. Could be a chain, like from a necklace."

Sara turned to look at her, her brown eyes bright, "Like from the necklace we found at the scene. The blood we found on it was probably from when someone ripped it off her neck." Joslyn looked past Sara to the victim's face. A sad expression came over her.

"What are you thinking about?"

Joslyn turned back to Sara, "What could she have done to make someone so angry?"

Sara, surprised by the question, searched for an answer. After a few moments she found that for the second time since they'd met, Joslyn had left her speechless.

David cleared his throat, "Girls, I'm sorry but we've got to get this done with as soon as possible. A decomp like this can stink up a building for years, we have to get her cremated before this smell starts to set in."

Sara looked back to the barrel that sat on the floor, a thick layer of goo lining the bottom. "It doesn't look like there's much left of her to cremate, let alone autopsy. I think most of what's left of her is in that barrel. Her body's just bone and a thin layer of fat."

David nodded, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose, "Agreed, but we've still got to try and find cause of death."

"Well, get to it," said Sara, her smile heard in the words.

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Twenty minutes later, Sara stood in the doorway to one of the stalls in the ladies' washroom, listening to the sound of Joslyn retching over the toilet bowl. She'd been doing fine through most of the autopsy; if you could call it that. There hadn't been much to work with, but as David had started scooping out what was left of the victim's internal organs, a dollop of green, emaciated innards had splattered across Joslyn's forehead as it was being placed in the medical tray beside her. After that all Hell had broken lose, ending with Joslyn tearing her mask off and making a mad dash to the washrooms. Sara had pulled Joslyn's hair back, holding it out of her face while she finished. She hadn't been much of a partier in college, so Sara had little experience with this sort of thing, but she did her best to reenact what she'd seen people do in movies. She rubbed her back, saying, "It's okay, just let it a-a-all out." Then she felt a little silly and decided that just being there was probably enough.

When Jos had thrown up everything she could have possibly had in her stomach, and maybe more, Sara helped her to her feet and together they made their way to the sink. Joslyn rinsed out her mouth and splashed water over her face, then leaned up against the cool porcelain tiles of the wall. Her neck and chest glistening with sweat, and drops of water hanging from her long lashes, she looked good for someone who'd just spent the last ten minutes kneeling over a toilet bowl.

"Sorry about that," she said weakly, opening her eyes to look at Sara. "I was trying so hard, but when that—whatever it was landed on my face, I _knew_ it was over."

Sara fought the urge to laugh, and held out a paper towel for her to dry her face. "Well at least we managed to learn cause of death beforehand," she said brightly, "And David thinks there's a good chance that we'll be able to get an ID from her unique dental work, so we lucked out there too. Come on," she said, glancing at her reflection in the mirror before heading for the door, " Let's go to the break room and grab something for you to put in your stomach. Then we'll find Grissom and tell him our findings."

Pushing off from the wall, Joslyn tossed out the paper towel and followed her outside. As they made their way through the winding halls of the lab, Joslyn found herself fascinated with the half- glass structure of the building. Being practically able to see from one side of the lab to the other, it made her feel comforted, like she wasn't alone. She could see all of the people laughing with each other, working with each other, and she was glad that at least for a time, she got to be part of it too.

"You coming?"

Joslyn snapped back to reality, realizing that during her survey of the lab she had actually stopped walking. She flashed Sara a smile and jogged the length of the hall, catching up with her as they entered the break room for the second time. It had emptied out, except for Greg who was sitting at the table, everyone having been given his or her respective assignments for the night. Sara slid into the seat next to him and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you planning on doing any work at _all_ tonight, Greg?"

He pushed her lightly, and she laughed. "I'll have you know, Ms. Sidle, that I have been working non-stop on a case from dayshift, and this is only the second time I've had a break all day. He turned to Joslyn, "Don't believe anything she tells you about me. You see, she just has a bit of a crush on me, and in order to keep me for herself I think she'd probably do or say anything to make sure nothing would jeopardize her position." Sara gave him a look that would've made some grown men cry, and opted not to humor him with the scathing retort he was trying to provoke.

The lighting being better than in the bathroom, she noticed that Joslyn's face was ashen, and she stood to get her a glass of water. Greg, apparently having noticed the same thing asked, "Hey are you okay? You look a little pale."

Joslyn colored and replied, "Yeah, I just wasn't feeling well for a while."

Knowing he was missing something, Greg turned to Sara for an explanation. She placed the glass of water in front of Joslyn, who thanked her with a smile, and sat down next to Greg again.

"Joslyn just witnessed her first autopsy."

"Oh," replied Greg, looking knowingly Joslyn. He ran a hand through his spiky hair saying, "Don't worry, it happens to everyone on the first time. You'll get used to it."

Joslyn's expression became sad for a moment, in the same way it had when she was regarding the face of the victim. "Is that something that you'd really want to get used to? Something so gruesome that only a small percentage of human beings are even able to bring themselves to do it?"

Greg stared at her. Obviously not knowing what to say, he crossed his arms over his AC/DC t-shirt and opened his mouth, but was spared having to answer by Grissom, who had been listening unnoticed at the doorway.

"It's not gruesome, it's science. And yes, if it means we can found out how the girl died, I think that it is something worth getting used to." All three turned to him, Sara rising.

"Good point," she said. "Have any more luck at the scene?"

"Some," he said, "Why don't you two join me in my office and we'll discuss what we have so far." Joslyn drained the last of her water and stood to leave, tossing a "Bye Greg" over her shoulder. Sara held back, gathering up the files from the autopsy. She caught the confused expression on Greg's face, realizing that he was still pondering over what Jos had said.

"Yeah, I know. She has that affect on people." She winked at him and turned gracefully on her heel, heading for Grissom's office.

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She found the two of them seated facing each other across the desk. Walking into the mad scientist's lab that was Grissom's office, she said her usual greeting to the fetal pig floating in one of the many jars lining the shelves and seated herself next to Joslyn.

"You know I hate it when you do that," he said as she sat across from him.

"I can't help it if he and I have developed a relationship," she responded demurely, tucking her hair behind her ear. He loved it when she did that.

The only sign of his amusement at her "relationship" with the formaldehyde-floating animal was a very slight twitch in the left corner of his mouth. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed it, but Sara took pride in the fact that she knew all of his little idiosyncrasies, and in this case she knew that whenever he did that he was suppressing a smile. Not feeling the need to suppress her own, she leaned over and slid the autopsy report across his desk. She sat back in her seat, the early morning sun that was beginning to shine through the blinds slicing her face into strips of color and gray, making her rich brown eyes glow. "David tells us that she was killed by blunt force trauma, but by what it's hard to say. Given her condition it was also difficult to estimate her time of death, but he says it's anywhere between 1-2 weeks ago. What'd you find?"

"I think I may have found something that will shed some light on _where _she was killed. I found this underneath where the oil drum was." He handed a rectangular piece of paper to Sara, who looked at it through the evidence bag and passed it on to Joslyn.

"St. Mary's Soup Kitchen, volunteers needed," she read off the pink slip of paper. "Wasn't that the soup kitchen that made the call about the body?"

"The very same," replied Grissom, "I think we ought to pay them a visit, don't you?"

"Absolutely," said Sara, excited. "I'll get the car."

She raised herself out of her chair, and turned to see David standing in the doorway. "Hey David," she said, confused. "Did you find some new evidence on the body?"

The bespectacled man rubbed a hand behind his ear nervously before answering, "Yes and no. I didn't find anything new on the body, but I was able to make a positive ID." Noting that he was clearly distressed, Sara pressed, "So soon? That was fast. Well who is she?"

"Who _was _she," corrected Joslyn quietly.

David began to shift from one foot to the other. "Well like I said, the veneers she had were really expensive. That kind of dental work is reserved for the extremely wealthy, so I figured I'd start out by calling all of the high-end cosmetic dentists in the area. There are only two, and they faxed me over all the X-rays of their female clients aged 20-30. It only took 10 minutes to make the match."

Sara shook her head in frustration, "So who is she David? Spit it out."

Pausing for just a moment, he blurted, "Trinity Wescott."

The color drained from Sara's face. "Trinity…" she trailed off, having to sit down, her knees weak.

"You're sure?" came Grissom's voice from behind her, stern.

"Positive."

"Okay," he answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Thank you, David."

David took that, gratefully, as his cue to leave. Joslyn, clearly bewildered at the reactions of her superiors to the victim's name, could no longer keep silent.

"Ok, so is someone going to fill me in here?"

Her head in her hands, Sara spoke in a tired voice to the floor, "You don't recognize the name?"

Slightly embarrassed that she didn't, Joslyn thought to herself for a moment, wracking her brain for some kind of connection with the name Trinity Wescott. It _did _sound familiar, now that she thought about it. But where had she heard it?

Taking Joslyn's silence as her answer, Sara lifted her head and made eye contact. "Maybe the name Sullivan Wescott would ring a bell?"

Joslyn's eyes widened, making the connection. "You don't….I mean this couldn't be…" She brought a hand slowly to her mouth. If this girl was who Joslyn thought she was, then this case had just become very, very messy.

"Yeah," sighed Sara. "_Senator_ Sullivan Wescott. Trinity Wescott is the Senator's daughter."


	3. No Mistakes

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS blah blah 

_A/N: hey guys, hope the few people that are reading this are enjoying it, there's some action in this one and I hope you're seeing some improvement in my writing. As always, please review!_

The air in Grissom's dark office was heavy with emotion. The three criminalists sat in a stunned silence as the reality of what was happening sank in. They had the corpse of a US Senator's daughter on their hands, and in situations like this, someone was bound to get dirty. The feds would eventually have to be called in; there was no getting around that. The various creatures suspended in glass around the room seemed to stare at them as if to say, "Well, what the Hell are you going to do about it?"

Grissom, apparently, was the one who was going to answer them. He looked at Sara, his face grim, jaw set. "We have to go to Ecklie."

Sara's face flashed with anger. "There's no way in Hell he's working on this case."

"Sara, it's not up to you!" he said, his voice hardening. She opened her mouth to retaliate but he stopped her, saying, "And it's not up to me either. We can't just sit on this, it's too big, we can't treat it like any other case. Ecklie runs this lab whether we like it or not, and if he finds out that we went over his head and worked it without him, it's all of our asses on the line."

"Since when did you ever care about my ass?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. Grissom's eyes flicked to Joslyn, who he had apparently forgotten was in the room. "Sara—

She held up a hand, silencing him. "Fine, fine. We tell Ecklie. But Joslyn and I get to remain on the case."

He closed his eyes in exasperation, "I can't guarantee that. Do you really think that they're going to want a rookie on the highest profile case of the year?"

Sara was silent, having no good argument against that, and she heard Joslyn suck in a breath at the thought being pulled off the investigation. Grissom continued, "Look, we're going to Ecklie and we're going to see what he says. Now." They all stood to leave, but Grissom gingerly put a cool hand on Sara's arm, stopping her. "Sara?"

"Yeah?" she said, her tone softening.

"Please behave yourself with Ecklie."

She flashed him a mischievous smile, and they headed for their boss' domain.

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The three of them stood facing their hostile supervisor's desk, like criminals in front of the firing squad. The small office was stuffy and uncomfortable, not built for four people. The sun, gaining strength, was hot on their faces as they looked down at him. They regarded the aging man's face as the news of their discovery washed over him. A vein could be visible pulsing on the right side of his forehead, the pencil he had been holding in his hand looked like it was on the verge of breaking in two. This was obviously not what he had been hoping for when he had come in for his shift only minutes before. He rubbed his face with his hands, the stress already radiating off of him in great waves.

"Okay," he began, " We'll have the Mayor call the Senator and break the news to him. He's going to want answers, what do we have so far?" he asked, looking at Grissom.

"Well nothing yet, the case is still in its preliminary stages Conrad."

Ecklie looked at him warily, "I need _something_ to give him, Gil."

Grissom shrugged his shoulders, "I'm sorry, the case is only hours old. We're going to need some time."

"You have four hours, get me something."

"It doesn't work like that, and you know it," Sara snarled.

"I'm sorry Sidle, I was under the impression you wanted to stay on this case. But if you and your little sidekick don't think you're up to it, I can easily pass it off to one of my guys from day shift."

Sara was seething, but the gentle pressure of Grissom's hand on the small of her back brought her down a notch or two. This was his way, she knew, of stopping her before she got herself kicked off the case.

"You'll allow Joslyn to remain then?" asked Grissom, this having been one of his major concerns. He didn't want to see the two women split up; not when he could tell that they had already began to compliment each other so well. He hadn't met anyone other than himself that had been able to bring out the other side of Sara Sidle, the side that allowed people in, even if only for moments at a time. He was interested to see how their relationship would unfold.

"Seeing as how the apprentice program was the Senator's idea, we'll allow her to stay on the case for the time being."

"The program was his idea? Why would he do that?" asked Sara, perplexed.

"It's part of his "safe community" campaign," answered Joslyn, speaking for the first time. "He figures if people know there's more funding going towards police and criminalistics departments, it will deter anyone from committing a crime in the first place."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard," retorted Sara.

Joslyn shrugged, "I agree, but it got him elected. And it got me a position here, so I'm not complaining. One of the biggest problems with the crime labs is a lack of staff, so he decided to speed up the process and get us out in the field faster, through the apprenticeship program. There's only a few of us scattered throughout the state at the moment, but if it works out for us, that could change."

"Great, let's have more inexperienced people contaminating our evidence," spat Sara sarcastically. Then realizing what she'd said, she quickly added, "Present company excluded of course."

Joslyn raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Mm-hmm." Sara laughed softly, apologizing. Ecklie watched the exchange between them, obviously not used to hearing Sara apologize to anyone, then cleared his throat, "If you two are through, I suggest you get to work."

Sara's smile melted into a frown, making no attempt to hide her obvious distaste for her boss.

"Are the FBI going to be involved?" asked Grissom, voicing another major concern of his. He and the feds didn't tend to mesh well.

"That'll be for the Senator to decide. For now you're on your own. Let me know if you need assistance processing and I'll call in the reserves."

"Thank you, Conrad," replied Grissom, turning to leave.

"And Grissom?" Ecklie called him back, causing Sara to walk into him, and Joslyn into her. Disentangling himself from the women (but not before catching the tantalizingly spicy-sweet smell of Sara's hair) he turned. "Yes?"

Ecklie paused, for effect, before leaning forward and putting his elbows on the desk.

"No mistakes."

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Grissom, Sara, and Joslyn filed one by one out of the cramped, stuffy office, relieved to be free from the piercing gaze of Conrad Ecklie. They moved down the hall a bit, congregating in front of the bulletin board. Sara leaned up against the cork and paper wall and looked to Grissom. "So where do we start?"

"That's a very good question," he replied, thinking. He pressed his lips together, placing a finger to his mouth. Sara knew better than to interrupt him when he was like this, and she knew that Joslyn was smart enough to notice the gears turning as well. After a moment he looked up, his clear blue eyes satisfied. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. We're all going to go St. Mary's. I have a feeling that soup kitchen is going to take us somewhere, and I want all of us to be there when it does. Afterwards, I want the two of you to process the oil drum and what's left of the victim's clothing. They've been laid out in the garage, they're ready to be processed." Sara nodded her assent. Grissom looked at his watch; shift had officially ended 32 minutes ago. "It looks like we're going to be putting in some serious overtime on this one."

Sara smiled. "Overtime's my middle name." Joslyn reached out a hand to help her off the wall, and the three of them headed for the parking lot.

Grissom signed out a company Tahoe at the front desk on the way out, and they piled into the car. Joslyn scooted into the backseat, Grissom into the driver's, and Sara rode shotgun. None of them thought about the seating arrangement, they just went to their respective spots as though that's the way it had always been. As Grissom pulled out of the lot, Sara reached forward and turned on the radio. The throaty voice of Diana Krall filled the car. "Oh, I love her," said Sara, sinking into her seat and shutting her eyes. Grissom looked over at her for a moment. The early morning sun shone on her through the window, shadow and light dancing across her face as they drove past the palm trees lining the Strip.

"Uh, Grissom?" came Joslyn's voice from the backseat. "You missed your turn." Sara opened her eyes in time to see their turn-off fly past.

"Yeah," said Grissom in as serious a tone as he could muster, "I thought we'd take the scenic route today."

"The scenic route?" echoed Sara skeptically, looking out the window. Grissom understood her suspicion. The city of Las Vegas during the day was not exactly a sight to behold. It was like standing in the middle of a nightclub with all the lights on; the light of day revealed the seedy underbelly to all of the hung over unfortunates who still wandered inside. Yes, the beauty of Las Vegas was only to be seen by night.

"Well, it's such a beautiful day out," continued Grissom, "And I don't know of anyone who appreciates beauty more than you." Sara looked at him for a second, and then stared straight ahead, choosing to say nothing. Diana continued to belt out her song, blissfully unaware of the mounting tension in the car. Joslyn squirmed uncomfortably, the pleather material beneath her squeaking. After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at the soup kitchen and everyone gratefully got out.

Saint Mary's was a division of the Hands of Mercy charity group; a collective of several churches that had united to do various volunteer work around town. They held benefits and fundraisers, ran food and toy drives, shelters, and several soup kitchens in addition to the one that stood before them. Combined with the endorsement of several celebrities, Hands of Mercy had become a somewhat formidable entity.

The building was a simple, white, one-story with large, friendly windows and a welcoming red front door. A sign bearing its name stood out front, with an arrow pointing inside. The three investigators followed it through the front door and walked into a medium sized cafeteria, with a kitchen running the length of the far wall, and a small office off to the left. It had a slightly institutional feel to it, with white walls and tile floors, and steel tables and chairs filling the room. It was empty now, lunch not being for hours yet, and their footsteps echoed loudly against the sterile floor. They could hear the familiar domestic sounds of food being prepared emanating from the kitchen, and they all began to move toward it, the smell of frying onions coming out to greet them.

"Hello?" All three of them turned. "Hello, excuse me!" There was a woman shuffling towards them, high heels clicking on the tile floor, in her mid-forties wearing a navy pantsuit. She had shoulder length, mousy brown hair, and stress lines crinkled between her small eyes. "I'm sorry we don't open for another 3 and a half-" she stopped, her muddy brown eyes hardening. "Well honestly, now, we're not an all-you-can-eat buffet. You three can clearly afford to buy lunch anywhere you'd care-"

"Ma'am," Grissom stopped her, "We're with the Las Vegas crime lab. I'm Gil Grissom; these are my associates Sara Sidle, and Joslyn Grace." The woman held out a hand to each of them in turn, her grip firm.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Marjorie Hudson, the manager. How can I be of service?"

"Well, we recently received a phone call from someone at this establishment regarding a bad smell coming from the old night club a few blocks over."

"Yes," she replied, "Yes that was me. When your patrons are homeless people and even _they_ are complaining about the smell you know it's time to take action. But we called the City to investigate, not the crime lab."

"Well the City called us after it was discovered that the body of a young woman was the source of the smell." Grissom explained gently.

The woman's eyes widened a fraction, her lips parting. "A young woman you say? Oh I am sorry to hear that. Do you know how she died?"

"Yes," Sara joined in the conversation, "Yes, she was murdered." Marjorie put a hand to her mouth. Sara continued, "We found this on the body," she pulled out the evidence bag containing the volunteer flyer, holding it up so Marjorie had a clear view. "Which leads us to believe that the victim may have been here in the hours prior to her death."

"Well we don't take down the names of the people who come to us, they just show up, eat, and leave. We have no reason to document who comes and goes." The older woman answered, not taking her eyes off the pink flyer.

"Ms. Hudson, we have reason to believe that the young woman we found was not a customer, but rather one of your volunteers," Sara answered.

Marjorie took in a breath, and put a hand out on the metal table beside her, falling into a seat. She looked up at each of them in turn. "Who? Which one of my team was it?" Sara looked to Grissom, not sure if they were willing to release the victim's name yet. He nodded at her, and she turned back to Marjorie Hudson. "We identified the body as that of…Trinity Wescott."

The color drained from the woman's face. She looked from Sara, to Grissom and back again, jaw working but no sound coming out. Her eyes welled up, but not from grief. The fear was evident on her face as she spoke in a whisper, "Are you sure?"

"Yes ma'am," said Joslyn softly, "We were able to make a positive ID off of her dental records."

"Dental…" Marjorie echoed vaguely. "How…how was she…"?

"We're not sure yet," answered Grissom. "But it would really help our investigation if you could answer a few questions for us."

"Yes," she answered, her voice regaining its strength, "Of course, anything to help find Trinity's killer."

"Thank you. Could you please tell me when was the last time you saw Trinity?"

"Yes," she began, remembering. "Yes it was here. About two weeks ago, on a Sunday. She and the Senator come by every Sunday after church. She was working in the kitchen from noon until around 2:30. Then…"she stopped.

"Yes?" pressed Grissom.

Something in Marjorie's countenance had changed. Her back was ramrod straight; her hands had begun to grip the edges of the table in a vice-like fashion. She avoided Grissom's gaze for a moment, and when she finally looked at him he saw something catch behind her eyes. He knew they'd lost her co-operation. "And then, I don't remember what happened after that," she finished simply. Sara's eyes met Grissom's in a "She's lying" kind of way, and Grissom blinked once at her before turning back to the disheveled manager.

"Okay," he responded. "Thank you. Would you mind if we took a look around?"

"What for?" she said a little too quickly, getting to her feet.

"Anything that may help us find out what happened to her," responded Sara sharply.

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to do that. It's my job to uphold the reputation of this establishment, and I don't think that the public would trust us very much if they found out we had been… 'Searched'."

"Ma'am, it's not a 'search' we were just hoping to have a look around. We could come back with a warrant, it you prefer."

While Grissom tried to persuade Marjorie (who's stress level was clearly increasing with every passing moment) to let them look around, Sara decided to take the opportunity to investigate a little before they were inevitably asked to leave. Joslyn glanced in her direction as she began to slip away, and Sara gave her a wink, putting a finger to her lips. Joslyn fought the urge to smile as she struggled to bring her attention back to the conversation.

The voices of Grissom and Marjorie Hudson began to fade into the background as Sara, desperately trying to avoid catching Marjorie's eye, slowly made her way to the office off to the left of the room. With a foot on the threshold she stopped and threw a glance over her shoulder. Marjorie was still deep in conversation with Grissom, so she figured it was safe to flick on the lights and step inside. She knew better than to touch or take anything, God forbid any evidence get thrown out of court because she'd taken it without due cause. But so far the office looked pretty uninteresting. The once white wallpaper had turned into a peeling yellow, a small desk sat up against the wall facing the door, covered in a layer of papers and memos. An old gray file cabinet stood beside it, and some wooden shelves held various dated, beaten cookbooks. She slowly traced the perimeter of the room, stopping here and there to run her eyes over post-it notes and old receipts. She was about to give up and turn around when something underneath the desk caught her eye. The corner of a light-pink envelope was sticking out from beneath it. Sara stuck out a foot to pull it closer to her, sliding it across the floor with the point of her shoe. She cocked her head to one side, squinting to read what was written across the front in a feminine, flowing, scrawl. Bending down to get a better look, she noticed that the envelope was of a superior quality to that of the rest she'd seen in the office. It was made of a thick, grainy paper, with a crest in the upper right hand corner. Her eyes focusing as she kneeled down, she was able to read the word on the envelope: "Daddy."

She began to reach into her pocket for a pair of gloves, but stopped, sensing someone behind her. Expecting to see Grissom standing over her, she turned, an excuse already formulating in her brain. But instead of the annoyed face of her boss, all she saw was the cold, unforgiving steel of a frying pan flying towards her at full speed.

She felt nothing, only heard the resounding _crack_ of metal to bone. She staggered, trying to stand, to run, but the floor seemed so far away…

She nearly managed to stand upright, but at the last minute she saw the frying pan coming at her again, knocking her backwards into the desk. She slammed her shoulder into the corner of the file cabinet before sliding to the floor in a daze. She looked up and saw the side of a man's face, blurry and distorted, before slipping deep into sweet, utter nothingness.


	4. Out of the frying pan

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS 

_A/N: Okay so this chapter ended up being so long that I've split it into two. The next one will be posted in the following days. I really didn't mean for it to be so long, I'm not sure how but it all just came flowing out. I hope you like it, and if not, critique and tell me why! - Solomynne_

Grissom was starting to get a headache. The shrilly voice of Marjorie Hudson was beginning to become more than he could take, and it was obvious that she wasn't going to let them so much as breathe on anything inside St. Mary's without a valid warrant. What was it that had made her attitude towards them change so abruptly? Sighing inwardly, he held up his hands in a sign of defeat, the words on Marjorie's tongue falling flat.

"Okay," he said tiredly, "But we'll be back with a warrant."

"You do that," huffed Marjorie, "You go get your warrant, and until then, you and your associates there can-" she paused, looking at Joslyn in confusion. The little blonde one was there, but where was the other one? Hadn't there been two before? Grissom had clearly noticed Sara's absence as well, and his eyes shot threateningly to Joslyn, who blinked back at him innocently.

"Where is she?" he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders in a "hey-don't-look-at-me" gesture, and said, "I don't know." And it was true, she rationalized, she didn't know where Sara was _exactly_.

She was spared being interrogated any further by a hollow thud that came resonating out of the small office near the entrance of the mess hall. Grissom and Joslyn looked at each other darkly before speed walking towards the office, Marjorie behind them shouting, "If that nosey woman has laid a finger on anything inside my office I will be suing your lab seven ways from Sunday!" Another, louder cracking noise came from the office, followed by a CRASH and Grissom broke into a run, Joslyn hot on his heels. He flew into the office and looked left, then right. Nothing.

The door to the emergency fire exit was swinging open, the bright light from outside blinding him momentarily. His eyes, adjusting, spotted something on the floor next to the file cabinet. A bloodied frying pan lay on the ground. He came closer, and saw an elegant, pale hand coming from behind the desk. He followed it to a graceful wrist, a milky forearm, a delicate shoulder…

"Oh God," he uttered, running to her. The entire left side of her face was bruised and bloody, her shoulder oozing crimson as well. She lay on her back, her right arm slung up over her head, skin pallid. Grissom felt something warm on his hand and looked down, only to realize that he'd put it in the small pool of blood that was collecting beneath her head. He vaguely registered the panicky voice of Joslyn yelling into her cell phone, and the clack-clack of Marjorie's heels across the floor as she ran for help. Those noises soon faded away until all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart. He reached out two fingers to the soft skin on her neck and prayed to God (something he hadn't done scince Holly Gribbs was in surgery) that he would find a pulse there.

Nothing.

The sour taste of shock creeping across his tongue, he put an ear to her chest, praying once more that he'd made a mistake, that in a moment he would feel the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath.

Nothing.

Quickly, he took hold of her face in his hands and tilted her head back, making sure her airway was clear. A bitter laugh almost escaped his lips at the thought that this, Sara lying half dead on the floor, was what it had taken for him to finally gain the courage to put his lips to hers. He breathed into her mouth, and then interlocking his fingers, he placed his hands between her breasts and began to perform CPR.

One, two, three, four, five…

He repeated the procedure three times with no result. Joslyn, now kneeling beside them, could only look on in horror, silent tears falling down her cheeks, as they waited for the ambulance. His mouth on hers, he breathed into her, willing his life force to somehow transfer over into her. Willing those beautiful brown eyes to open, that husky voice to say his name, that gap-toothed smile to spread across her face.

Her lips were white, her eyes had come open but they were rolled back in her head, unseeing. "Damn it Sara!" he hissed, his arms beginning to ache. He was pounding her chest now, with every ounce of strength left in him. "Wake up! Breathe!" He thought he might lose his mind if she didn't come back soon. And that's when he heard the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard: Sara Sidle giving a sharp intake of breath. The relief cascaded over him.

It was as though every cell in his body, every fiber of his being, had been holding its breath, and was now letting out a collective sigh. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, and she began to cough. Grissom put an arm under her, pulling her into a sitting position and putting a hand over the wound on the back of her neck. It was still bleeding profusely, and with a professional eye he calculated that she'd lost nearly a pint of blood. She groaned and opened her eyes, seeing him looking down at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. "Don't try to talk now. Just rest, we'll talk later." He wasn't sure if she understood at first, but then she reached out and snaked an arm around his shoulders, clinging to him. She buried her face in his neck, and he knew that she was trying her best not to cry. "It's okay," he whispered, pulling her closer to him, wrapping his arm around her protectively. The wound on her head seemed to have finally stopped bleeding, and he ran his hand through her hair, through the sticky blood, trying his very best to soothe her. The ever-intuitive Joslyn decided to give them a moment, and she stood, wiping her swollen eyes on the back of her wrist. She stood sentry outside the doorway to the office, making sure that no one except the paramedics would interrupt their privacy.

The two of them sat on the floor in silence, each wrapped tightly in the other's arms. Both of them were thinking of how close they'd come to losing one another, and that made them cling to each other even harder. The only sounds were their even breathing and the ticking of the wooden clock on the desk.

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The familiar wail of a siren in the distance became louder; gravel crunching under tires as the ambulance pulled into the parking lot of St. Mary's soup kitchen. Joslyn called out over her shoulder to Grissom to tell him the paramedics had arrived, and walked outside to meet them. Two men, one tall with sandy blonde hair, the other slightly shorter with a shock of black Irish curls, jumped out of the rig and jogged towards Joslyn, kits in hand. The taller one spoke first, "You the one that called?"

"Yeah," croaked Joslyn, the dried tears on her cheeks still evident. As the two men came closer they all began to walk quickly inside.

The shorter one addressed her now, "Something about an officer down right?"

"Well…" the truth was, her being new to the job, Joslyn hadn't known the proper code for "criminalist down" (if there even was one) so in panic she had used the code for "officer down" instead. "Not exactly. She's a CSI; we were here following a lead on a case. She went on her own to check out the back office, and that's when she was attacked."

"Do you know by who? Or with what?" he asked, trying to assess the situation. Joslyn shook her head "no". By this time they'd reached the door, the two men letting Joslyn lead the way to the office. They walked in to find Grissom helping Sara up off the floor, one arm around her waist to keep her steady. Barely able to stand due to loss of blood, she leaned on him heavily, wincing with pain as she tried to straighten out her shoulder. She looked up and saw Joslyn, whose face was pale with worry and streaked with tears. Sara was about to attempt a smile so as to let Jos know she was okay, but she caught sight of the two men standing behind her and stopped. Had her face not already been so pale, the left side badly bruised, all the color would have drained from it as she locked eyes with the taller paramedic that stood staring at her.

"Hank." She said simply. Grissom felt her body tense against his own as she stood face to face with her ex-boyfriend, the one who had been cheating on her, or cheating _with _her, rather. Hank was clearly a little nervous as first his partner, and then Joslyn, turned to face him, looking for some explanation to the increasing level of discomfort in the room.

"Sara," he answered, breaking eye contact. He was there to do his job, and that's what he was going to do. "I'd ask you how you are, but given the circumstances…" Sara chuckled softly. The whole situation _was_ pretty funny, when you thought about it. This wasn't exactly how she had hoped to be looking when she finally saw him again, but there you go. Besides, being cuddled up next to another man wasn't a bad way for it to happen, in any case. Grissom, obviously not seeing the humor in it, stared Hank down with his steely blue gaze. "You really shouldn't be standing, Sar," Hank went on. "You've lost a lot of blood, and you could have a concussion. I want you to sit tight for a second while I go get a gurney."

"No, no that's really unnecessary, I'm fine," she began. He had to laugh at that. Only Sara Sidle could stand there with a bashed-up face, a blow to the head, and what looked like a dislocated shoulder, and say that she was fine. Knowing that he'd never win this one (he never did) he shrugged his shoulders in submission and said, "Alright, whatever you say. Let's get you into the rig and we'll give you a look over on the way to the hospital." Grissom, who was not really keen on the idea of Hank giving her any more "look-overs", continued to glare at him as they slowly made their way outside. He realized in their close proximity how good Sara's body felt pressed against his own; how right it felt. He wondered if she felt it too.

He helped her climb into the rig, and sat across from her as she sank onto the gurney in the back, leaning her head against the window. Hank climbed in after him, hunched over in the limited space of the ambulance.

"Grissom!" called Joslyn's voice from the foot of the truck. Grissom tore his eyes from Sara, who looked as though she might pass out again, (despite constant reassurances that she was fine). Joslyn stood in the parking lot, bathed in sunlight, her blonde hair streaming as she cupped a hand over her eyes. "Toss me the keys to the Tahoe, I'll follow behind you."

Grissom leaned forward to reach into his pocket, noticing for the first time that he was covered in Sara's blood. It flaked off of his hands as he dug in his pockets and tossed the keys to his young colleague. "Call the lab before you go and tell them what's happened, get them to send someone over and work the scene in the office."

"Okay, I'll meet you at Desert Palms!" she shouted over the noise of the engine as it turned over. "And Sara, try to stay out of trouble in the meantime!" she called, "I can't always have my eye on you!" She smirked her elf-ish face and left before Sara could think of a comeback.

Grissom watched through tinted windows as a blue-hued Joslyn climbed into the huge SUV and slammed the door. He saw her don a pair of sunglasses and flip open her cell phone before the ambulance turned and she was out of sight.

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The back of the ambulance was loud with the engine running, so it took him a moment to realize that Hank was talking to him.

"What!" he shouted, squinting.

"I said would you mind moving? I need to sit across from Sara to assess her injuries!" the younger man called back.

"Oh," said Grissom, moving out of the way, and feeling quite the fool. He watched as Hank took his place across from her, so close their knees were touching. Hank cupped a hand around Sara's face, tilting it so he could he see the damage. He touched her face gently, pressing here and there, feeling for broken bones. Sara closed her eyes, biting her lip against the pain. Hank moved his hands to the wound on her head; taking her hair and pushing it back so he could see the deep gash in her skull. One hand still holding her hair back, he reached across Sara to a drawer behind her and pulled out some medicated cotton swabs. She could feel his breath hot on her neck, and for a moment the memories that came flooding back to her were more painful than any physical wound she had sustained.

"How you doing?" he asked as he started to clean the cut.

"Fine," said Sara through gritted teeth, scrunching her nose against the pain. Hank pressed the cotton swab deeper into the wound, and Sara cried out, gripping his knee in agony.

"Okay, okay, we're done," said Hank, tossing the used swab into a trashcan. Sara was still bent over, both hands now gripping his knee, her breathing becoming shallow. Hank put a hand on her back, rubbing it gently, but Sara groaned and pulled away from him. She didn't want to go there. Grissom sat upright; leaning forward he put a hand on hers.

Reminding himself to file a complaint against Hank, he squeezed her long fingers in his. "Hey," he said softly. With the rumblings of the motor reverberating through the truck, she wasn't even sure that he'd said anything at first. Her eyes, which had been shut tight against the pain, opened to meet cool blue ones. She was still sprawled over Hank's knee, but she'd forgotten he was even there. The hand that was on hers rubbed a thumb gently across her wrist, cool and reassuring.

"We're here," said Hank, breaking the moment. Grissom held her hand for another second before releasing it, taking hold of her forearm to help her out. She still had to lean heavily against him, and he understood then just how hurt she must be, for it's not like Sara to lean on anyone for anything. Still, he knew better than to ask her if she wanted a wheelchair.

"Hey!" called a familiar voice. Grissom turned to see Joslyn jogging towards them, pushing her sunglasses back on her head. "How's our girl doing?" she asked Hank, putting a hand on Sara's arm.

"She's doing fine," replied Sara, wincing. Even the gentle wind on her face was painful.

"She's got a nasty cut on her head," began Hank, "she'll need stitches on that one for sure. I think it's safe to say that she's got a concussion, but the doctors will want to do a head scan to verify. And as for the shoulder, it's looks like it's been dislocated. It'll have to be popped back into place."

"Can we stop talking about me like I'm not right here?" stormed Sara. "Let's just go in and get this over with."

"Okay, Sara, we'll try to make this as quick as possible," spoke Grissom. "Just promise you're going to be co-operative with doctors. You need to listen to what they say, got it? I don't want any if your problems with authority coming through here."

"I always listen to authoritative figures, I just rarely _do_ what they say," replied Sara, smiling despite the fact that the pain sliced across her face. Joslyn laughed out loud at that, throwing her head back and covering her mouth with one hand. Sara liked her laugh; it was deep, and throaty. One of those rich kinds of belly laughs that when you hear them, you can't help but join in.

They walked through the sliding doors of Desert Palms hospital, that unmistakable hospital smell of urine, disinfectant, and bed linens washing over them. Hank went to find someone to check Sara in, leaving the three investigators to fend for themselves. The waiting room was packed, hot and stuffy despite the air conditioning. A wailing baby's piercing cries shot straight into Sara's injured skull. The three of them stood close together, dreading the long wait ahead of them. Hank, who had been standing at the admitting counter, walked over to them with a nurse in tow. The slender African-American nurse, chart in hand, wore turquoise scrubs and a stethoscope draped around her neck.

"Guys, this is my friend Dana, she's the triage nurse. " Dana shook each one's hand in turn. "She says she can squeeze you in right away, since there's a head injury involved. I've updated her on your condition, so you're in good hands now." He faltered, not sure what to say next. "So…I guess I'll get going. Danny is waiting for me in the truck." He turned to leave, taking a few steps before stopping and saying, "I hope you'll be okay, Sara. I'm really sorry that all this happened." The words, brimming with ambiguity, hovered over them for a moment before the nurse Dana knocked them out of the air.

"Well, Ms. Sidle, let's get you into a room, shall we?" she said, starting off down the hall.

Sara, who had been staring after Hank, snapped to attention and they followed her to a small, bright room at the end of the corridor. Grissom eased Sara onto the bed while the nurse threw open the curtains, letting the sunlight spill into the room. She turned to face them, "A doctor will be with you shortly. I'm going to get the supplies we'll be needing for the sutchering, so you three can just sit tight for a few minutes, okay?" Not waiting for an answer, she left in search of a sutcher kit, leaving the three of them sitting in silence. Sara was on the edge of the bed, Grissom and Joslyn in two armchairs across from her. It was hard for them to look at her; no one knew what to say. After someone is a victim to such a violent crime, what is there, really, to say?

"So," began Joslyn, leaning forward, "You are eventually going to give me the story on Hank, right?" Her comment had the effect she'd hoped, Sara's laugh could be heard in the hallway.

Grissom cleared his throat and stood, "Perhaps we should take this opportunity to discuss the case." Sara and Joslyn locked eyes, one pair of deep brown eyes rolling in exasperation, and another green pair bright with laughter. "So," Grissom went on, "What do we know so far?"

"We know that Marjorie Hudson is hiding something from us," Sara responded. "The question is: what? Or better yet: why?"

"She's gotta be covering for someone," Joslyn joined in. "And my money's on the Senator. Did you see her face when she found out that Trinity Wescott was dead? She was scared. And she completely shut down after she let slip that the last time she saw Trinity was when she was her father."

"So you think it's possible the Senator did it?" Grissom asked her. "To what end? As far as we know he has no motive."

"Pity points?" Sara said, "There's an election coming up. Maybe he thought if something happened to his daughter people might be more inclined to vote for him, because they felt sorry for him."

"But do you really think he'd go so far as to kill her?" Grissom asked.

"We've seen people kill for less," Sara replied. Grissom nodded in agreement.

Joslyn shrugged, "Maybe he didn't mean for it to go that far. He might've had something like a staged kidnapping planned, and she didn't want to go along with it."

"Or it's possible that something went wrong," said Sara.

"Something definitely went wrong," came an unfamiliar voice. Everyone looked to the doorway. The speaker was a tall browned haired man in a white coat, looking back at them from dark eyes. He walked inside and regarded Sara's face. "Look at this bruising, someone really went to town here," the doctor commented, cupping a hand under Sara's chin. "These bruises go all the way to the bone."

"Yeah, a frying pan will do that to you," said Sara sarcastically. Joslyn winced at this new bit of information, not having seen the weapon of choice on the ground. Dana, the nurse, entered the room with an armful of medical supplies, greeting the doctor with a smile. "I see you've met Dr. Daniels. I have everything we need here Jack."

Sara raised her eyebrows, "Jack Daniels?" The doctor sighed.

"My parents' cruel idea of a joke," he said. Sara laughed as he continued to examine her.

"Alright Ms. Sidle if you could just remove your shirt, I'll take a look at your shoulder." Grissom turned to leave, but Sara looked up him and wordlessly shook her head. She wanted him to stay with her. Joslyn stood and helped Sara work her way (with some difficulty) out of her blood stained shirt, revealing a lacy black bra. The sunlight flowing in from the window made her pale skin glow, her smooth, sleek back shining brilliantly.

Her shoulder was much worse than Grissom had suspected, and he stood in wonder at the fact that she could be so composed after suffering such a violent attack. Then the thought came to him that, given what she had told him about her childhood, she was probably used to it. The idea of this as she sat, broken and exposed, on the hospital bed made his heart ache more than she would ever know.


	5. Confessions

_Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS._

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I tried to answer them all, but if I missed any then I'm sorry. So anyway, I think you'll see now why I had to cut this chapter into two. WAY too long. And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the case that's going on. All in good time. _

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Five hours, twelve stitches (six in the head and six on the shoulder), and one head scan later, the trio hobbled out of the hospital doors, taking deep breaths of the late afternoon air. The doctor had applied a sort of sling to Sara's left arm to keep her shoulder in place as everything healed. He'd prescribed ice packs for her bruised face, and someone was going to have to make sure she stayed awake for the next 24 hours due to the concussion she had sustained. Grissom and Joslyn had agreed on looking after her in shifts: Joslyn for the first twelve hours, and Grissom for the next. Seeing as how the four-hour time limit they had been given was not only up; but was over by about an additional 4 hours, Grissom figured he'd go back to the lab and smooth things over with Ecklie.

The two girls dropped him at the lab, and after stopping by Joslyn's place for some overnight things, they headed back to Sara's. Sara watched out the window as the blazing lights of Circus-Circus sped by, reflecting off of her face. She'd been up for 39 hours, and all the events of the day had taken a toll on her, body and mind. All the lights of The Strip began to blur into one as her eyes became unfocused, her eyelids heavy.

"HEY!" Joslyn's distinct voice slapped her in the face. "We've got 23.5 more hours to go, and you're already wimping out on me? Stay awake Sidle, that's an order!"

Sara laughed, "You can't order me around, I'm your boss. Remember; Grace?"

Joslyn's face fell, "Oh yeah." Her gravelly voice grew quieter as she gave a soft chuckle, "You know it's funny, but I find it so easy to forget that you're my supervisor."

Sara smiled to herself in the dark interior of the car. It made her happy that Joslyn felt comfortable around her. A lot of people found her too intense. She watched as Joslyn smoothly changed lanes, following the directions Sara had given her, and turned onto the street where Sara's building was located.

"So," began the younger woman, "What should we do to keep each other awake? Watch movies? TV? Play board games? I think you'll find me an excellent opponent at Jenga, if you're interested."

Sara laughed again, "I don't really have any movies…or bored games. And I don't watch TV."

"I'm not a huge fan of it either," Joslyn answered, waving a hand dismissively, "Whoever invented reality shows should be shot." She visibly shuddered as she pulled into the lot and parked in a visitor's parking stall. Swinging her backpack over her shoulder as they hopped out, Joslyn followed as Sara led the way to her apartment on the fourth floor.

Sara had left the sliding glass door open, and her white sheer curtains were dancing in the evening breeze as they entered. The soft purple walls of her apartment reflected the cool colors of the coming night, welcoming the two women in silence. Joslyn breathed in as she set her bag on the floor, a spicy vanilla smell met her nostrils. She liked it. It was feminine, comforting.

"You can throw your things anywhere, I'm just going to go change," said Sara, already unbuttoning the top of her pants. "The bathroom's down the hall if you need it!" she called over her shoulder. Joslyn grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom. Setting her knapsack on the floor she kicked off her shoes and began to undress. The window was opened a crack, and the crisp evening wind blew across her bare skin as she changed, goose bumps rippling. Dressed in her favorite pair of jeans and a black tee shirt, she splashed her face with some water and threw her hair into a ponytail. With a final glance in the mirror she went to out to meet Sara, who standing in the kitchen pouring red wine into two long-stemmed glasses. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a white tank top, her hair loose around her shoulders. How she'd managed to change on her own was anyone's guess. She smiled as Joslyn entered the room, handing her a glass. "So are you hungry, can I make you something to eat?"

Joslyn shook her head as she took a sip of wine, "Thanks but my stomach's still a little unhappy after the autopsy."

"Good," answered Sara, sighing, "'Cause I don't think I have any food." Joslyn snorted into her wineglass, nearly spilling. "Come on," laughed Sara, "Have a seat, let's get to know each other a little."

The two of them sat cross-legged on the couch, facing each other. Both of them preferred natural light to artificial, so they sat in the gently increasing darkness of the room, regarding each other in the soft twilight. "So," started Joslyn, turning her glass absent-mindedly in her hand, "What do you want to know, exactly?" Sara took a sip of her wine and set it down on the coffee table.

"Well, why don't we start with the basics? Where were you born, what's your family like, that kind of thing." Joslyn sighed and looked out the window, her almond eyes unseeing.

"I was born in Seattle. I lived a relatively normal life up until I was 11, then my teachers noticed that I was always bored in class, always misbehaving. They sent me to a shrink who told my Dad that I wasn't troubled; I was gifted. Ever since then I was put into special classes, special schools," her voice took on an uncharacteristic edge.

"You didn't like that? Being different I mean?" asked Sara, reaching for her wine.

"No, what kid does? All I wanted to do was play with my friends, but I lost them all because I was living such a different lifestyle than they were. We had nothing in common anymore. The majority of my childhood I just remember feeling so…" she paused searching for a word.

"Isolated," Sara finished.

"Exactly."

"Well what about your parents, couldn't they have enrolled you in some dance classes, got you interacting with other kids your age?"

"My parents," said Joslyn, with a humorless laugh. "My mom left when I was nine. She couldn't put up with my Dad's drinking, and she was never exactly the maternal type. I woke up one day and she was gone. My Dad and I never spoke about it, or anything else for that matter. We'd both known it was coming. She'd always been so unhappy. Anyway, to cut a boring story short, I was a total loner all throughout school. The other kids never spoke to me and for the most part, that was the way I wanted it. I got a full scholarship to Yale, without which I never would have been able to afford college, and I left Seattle the day after I graduated. I never looked back." She laughed again, this time it was a happy one. "Sorry to dump all that on you, that was weird. No one's ever really asked to hear about my life before. I think I made things sound worse than they were. But I'm so happy where I'm at right now."

"Not at all," Sara reassured her, "It wasn't 'dumping', it was talking. I did ask you to tell me, after all." Joslyn gave her a lopsided smile at that, one dimple puncturing her cheek.

"Well I showed you mine, now you have to show me yours," teased Jos, nudging Sara's knee with her own.

The room had grown dark; the only light was the pale moon filtering in through the open window, softening the bruises that mottled Sara's face. Joslyn's eyes were shining with the anticipation of learning more about her co-worker. She had her head lazily propped in her hand, her arm resting on the couch cushion. Her blonde hair had fallen loose from the ponytail, and it streamed between her fingers. Sara was sitting in the same position, her warm brown eyes relaxed, as was her body. The blue moonshine bounced off her dark curls. The two women looked like opposite mirror images as they sat facing each other, the same and not the same.

_Should I? _Sara thought, _Should I tell her? She told me her secrets without blinking an eye. I wish I could be so open like that, so honest. I told him…why not tell her?_

Sara opened her mouth to speak; ready to let Joslyn know it all. This was the first time in her life (other than with Grissom) that she'd ever been brave enough to tell anybody about her childhood. About the abuse, the fighting, the pain. About the night her mother killed her father. She'd been on the verge of telling other people, Catherine in particular, but she had always been too scared that people would start to view her differently. She took a breath to speak, but just as she did, a noise came from the hallway outside her apartment. Both women turned and stared at the door as an envelope came shooting underneath the gap between the door and the floor. It slid the few feet across the room, coming to rest beside the couch.

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Sara and Joslyn looked at each other in wonder. Sara bent down and scooped up the envelope, flipping it to see who it was addressed to. It had her name printed in harsh block letters across the front.

She stared at it quizzically before Joslyn spoke in a whisper, "Go on, open it."

Sara slid a thumbnail under the back and ripped it open, pulling out a small white piece of paper. In the same block print as was on the envelope was a letter stating,

_Dear CSI Sidle,_

_It has come to my attention that you and your associate, CSI Grace,_

_are currently investigating the death of Trinity Wescott. I find it_

_incumbent upon me to warn you that it is best if said investigation_

_goes no further. For your own safety, and the safety of your coworkers_

_drop this case. If you do not, you may find yourselves on a much more_

_intimate basis with kitchen appliances than you ever desired to be. I believe_

_you've already been introduced to the frying pan, Ms Sidle, but the blender_

_is dying to meet you both._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_X_

Sara dropped the letter as though it were on fire, looking to Joslyn in shock. "What?" asked Joslyn, concerned, "What did it say? Who's it from?" Sara just shook her head silently, her mouth open. Joslyn reached past her to pick the piece of paper off the ground.

"No!" Sara said, grabbing her wrist. "No don't touch it. There might be prints on it."

"Prints?" asked Joslyn incredulously, "Sara, what are you talking about?"

"Here," said Sara, releasing her arm. She walked to the kitchen and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves, throwing them to Joslyn who put them on and snatched the paper off the ground. Her eyes flew over the paper, lips silently mouthing the words. She looked to Sara, her face pale. A question was forming on her lips, but before she could ask it, there was a knock at the door. The two women looked at each other, both frozen in fear. Someone outside tried to work the handle, but the door was locked. Joslyn's eyes widened, a hand flying to her mouth. The knock on the door was more insistent this time. Sara stood in the kitchen, frozen like a deer in the headlights, as again the door handle turned slowly.

"Sara? Sara, are you home? You two had better not have fallen asleep, or you're in serious trouble Joslyn," came a familiar voice. "You're supposed to be keeping her awake."

"Grissom!" called Sara through the door.

"Who else? Let me in, this is getting ridiculous," his irritated voice came from the hall. Sara, visibly relaxing, walked to the door and let him inside. He saw the look on her face as he came in, and then turned to Joslyn, who looked just as upset as she sat on the couch. "What happened? What's with the dish gloves?" he asked, gesturing to Joslyn's rubber hand attire. She wordlessly tossed him her gloves and got him to pick the piece of paper up off the table. The scowl on his face deepened as he read.

"Who sent you this?" he asked.

"Do you really think they stopped to say 'hello'?" snapped Sara, "Whoever it was slid it under the door and took off."

Grissom, seriously concerned, looked to Sara, sighing. "I just came to tell you that the Senator will be arriving at the lab for a briefing in two hours, and Ecklie wants you both to be there. And now that I've seen this I definitely want you both where I can keep an eye on you until we can figure things out."

"Figure things out?' asked Sara.

Grissom braced himself, ready for what was coming. "I want to pull you both off the case."

Sara bristled, hands flying to her hips. "What? Why?"

"Why?" asked Grissom, his voice raising. "Sara look at yourself! You got your face smashed in with a frying pan! You nearly died today; I had to perform CPR on you. Do you have any idea what that was like? And now you're both getting death threats, and you ask me why I want you off this case?"

Her hands dropped to her side, she said nothing. She didn't know that he'd had to perform CPR. To be honest, she hadn't wanted to let herself think about any of it. That's what she was good at, compartmentalizing.

"Look," she began, her voice softening, "This job comes with risks, alright? I promise I'll be more careful. We can make sure that neither of us are left alone, we'll take every precaution possible. Just please, please, let us finish what we started."

Grissom scrubbed his face with his palm, and looked at her. "Let's just deal with this once we get to the lab. I want to get you both somewhere I know you're safe.

Glowering, Sara and Joslyn grabbed their things and followed Grissom out the door, leaving the curtains whispering in the darkness.

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The drive had been short, and quiet. Sara was too exhausted, and in too much pain to argue anymore. She wasn't allowed to take the painkillers the doctor had prescribed her until her 24 hours was up, and it was becoming hard to focus on anything. As they entered the lab, Joslyn ran to take the letter they'd received (now in a Ziploc bag) to trace. Grissom, sensing Sara's wariness, led her by the small of her back to the staff room, where she sank gratefully onto the couch.

"You do understand why I want you off this case," he said gently. It wasn't a question.

She had closed her eyes and was resting her head in her hand, but he saw her give a small nod. " I don't want to see you hurt again. Either of you. And I can't think of any other way to protect you than to remove you--"

He was cut off as Warrick, Nick, Greg, and Catherine entered the room, followed soon after by Joslyn. After a lot of hugs, inspections of Sara's injuries, and "are you okay!s, everyone settled down into the various seats around the room. Everyone had apparently wrapped up their cases, and had been given the notice by Ecklie that it was "all hands on deck" for the Wescott case now. Grissom updated them on the death threat that Sara and Joslyn had just received, and the room took on a decidedly darker atmosphere.

"They're threatening to blend you guys up?" asked Greg incredulously.

"So it would seem," answered Joslyn quietly.

"And who are 'they', exactly?" added Warrick.

"God knows," said Sara, "The Senator's lackeys? Maybe he had something to do with it, and this is all part of a cover-up."

"We have no evidence to support that, Sara," Grissom interjected.

"Well are you sure you want to push forward with this investigation?" asked Catherine, "After all, it's not worth your lives."

Joslyn spoke in a frustrated tone, "We've already decided that we want to finish this case. Besides, if not us, than whoever takes over as the lead will be in danger. Any way you look at it, this case is a ticking time bomb."

"And I for one, am not going to be intimidated be any Men in Black," spoke Sara, "No matter how many kitchen appliances they threaten me with."

Everyone looked at the two women in reverence. It was obvious that they were adamant about remaining on the case, and you had to respect them for the bravery they were showing.

"Well," said Nick, sitting down beside Sara, "I just want you guys to know that you're not in it alone, okay? We're all working this together now, and whatever happens, we're a team first and foremost." Sara smiled and put her good arm around his shoulder, giving him a squeeze. There was a knock at the door, and everyone looked up as the Sheriff entered, his tired face etched with stress.

"Sorry to break up the family meeting," he started, "But the Senator's just arrived. Ecklie wants all the main CSIs on the case to sit in on the briefing." Joslyn and Grissom stood, waiting as Nick helped Sara to her feet, and the three of them followed Sheriff Culpepper to meet the politician.

Joslyn leaned in to Sara as they made their way down the hall, whispering, "Why do I feel like we're being sent to the execution block?"

Sara met her eyes grimly, "Because we are."

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Sullivan Wescott was the kind of man that can only be described as foreboding. As Sara and Joslyn took their seats across the table from him, their feelings of uneasiness increased ten fold. His thick silvery hair rivaled that of Grissom's, but the Senator hadn't aged nearly as well as Grissom had. The lines etched in his face made him look hard, cold even. His piercing blue eyes were almost unnatural in their severity, and his eyebrows looked like they were permanently knit together. He had an aristocratic air about him, the demeanor of a man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted. He showed no signs of remorse as the two women seated themselves before him, only a detached and business like manner.

Ecklie was seated at the head of the table, and Grissom chose to stand behind the two girls, ever the observer. Ecklie took it upon himself to speak first, making the necessary introductions and offering his condolences to the Senator who acknowledged him with a nod. "I trust you have some information for me on what happened to my daughter," he spoke, his voice curt, but not rude.

Grissom responded, "Well Senator, the case is still in its preliminary stages. We are following a few leads--" the Senator raised a hand for quiet, and Grissom stopped, baffled.

"I didn't ask for excuses. I asked you who did this to my daughter," he replied blandly.

Sara interjected, "Sir, perhaps if we could have a little more information on your daughter we might get a better idea as to who might want to hurt her. Did she have any enemies? Was she in any clubs? An angry boyfriend maybe? Did she recently get into an argument with someone that you might know of?"

"No," he said simply. "Everyone loved Trinity. She wasn't fighting with anyone, she's not dating anyone."

Joslyn cleared her throat, "Well is it possible that she might have friends or a lover that you were unaware of? If we could just get a list of her--"

The Senator closed his eyes and Joslyn stopped short, looking to Sara in confusion. "I know all of her friends," he said, "And like I said, she wasn't fighting with any of them."

"But sir," Joslyn pressed gently, "are you sure it isn't possible that--"

"I'd know," came his reply. Joslyn sucked in her bottom lip in frustration, and also possibly in an attempt to stop herself from saying something she might regret.

"Am I to understand," the politician continued, "That you have absolutely no idea what happened to my daughter?"

Ecklie, distressed beyond compare, spoke, "Well we do have our investigators working around the clock. It's really only a matter of time before we--" the Senator stood, cutting off the third person in as many minutes.

"I see no point in my presence here. I trust I will be contacted when you know more," he spoke to Grissom this time. It appeared that he had skillfully noticed that Grissom, and not Ecklie, was really the one in charge.

"Of course," replied Grissom. The Senator stood to leave, but Grissom spoke again: "Senator Wescott?" Sullivan turned and looked to Grissom. "If you're so sure that no one wanted to hurt Trinity, why do you think it is that someone is working so hard to conceal the identity of her murderer?"

"What do you mean?" asked the Senator.

"Well surely you've heard from Marjorie Hudson by now that my associate Sara Sidle was attacked in trying to recover evidence pertaining to your daughter's case."

"No," said the Senator, his confident mask wavering for the first time. "No, I hadn't heard that. I'm sorry that happened to you Ms. Sidle, but I don't see what some random attack has to do with my daughter's case."

"It wasn't random sir," replied Grissom. "And if that isn't enough evidence to an obvious cover-up, I would be more than happy to escort you to our lab where a death threat against Ms. Sidle and Ms. Grace is currently being processed. A death threat that specifically mentions your daughter's name."

The Senator's eyes flashed with anger, "How dare you. My daughter was a good girl, and whatever you're implying, you should stop, because she didn't do anything to deserve this. And as for death threats and attacks, well I wouldn't know anything about that. Maybe you should be talking to one of my opponents about it, instead of accusing me of…being nothing better than a common mobster. I'll be in touch," and with that he and his entourage of Men In Black that were waiting outside the doors left the building.

"Well," sighed Sara, "That went well."

Ecklie stood, clearly not pleased with how things had turned out. "Well I hope you're happy Grissom. If he gets elected I think we can count on getting zero government funding this year. Start processing the evidence, now. The next time he comes here your people had damn well better have something to show for it." He stood, and left in a fashion very similar to that of Senator Wescott, minus the bodyguards.

"How poor are they that have not patience," said Grissom quietly.

Joslyn turned to Sara, eyebrows raised.

"That's Shakespearian for 'Ecklie's a hardass'," answered Sara glumly, chin in her good hand.

"I figured," replied Joslyn. She turned to Grissom, "To the garage?"

He nodded. "To the garage."

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	6. Lemons

_Disclaimer: you know the drill, not mine, not yours._

_A/N: kinda long, but what're you gonna do. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and a special thanks to Graciebird and Hamano for their help._

"GAAAAH!" a frustrated cry echoed, tinny, in the large garage at CSI headquarters. Joslyn Grace, blonde hair tied back in a bun, sat down heavily on an upturned plastic bucket, pressing the heel of her wrists into her eyes. Sara, who was working a few feet away, looked up, a mixture of amusement and understanding on her face.

"Let me guess, still no luck?" she said dryly.

"No!" spat Joslyn, lifting her head. "Two hours of tape lifting this damned oil drum, and not a single print! I'm tired, I'm hungry, I smell, and I'm pissed off," she snarled through gritted teeth, tearing off a rubber glove and chucking it across the room in frustration.

Greg, who had chosen that particular moment to enter the garage ducked, narrowly missing getting a dirty glove in the face. "What, you didn't like that one?" he teased.

Joslyn narrowed her eyes at him, shooting him a fierce glare. "Yikes. Did Sara teach you that?" he laughed.

Sara, sensing Joslyn was in no mood for Greg's antics, intervened, "Okay Jos, just take a break for now. Go get some water, grab something to eat, come back to it in a bit. And as for you," she continued, turning to Greg, "Is there something we can help you with?"

"Actually I'm here to help _you_," he replied. "Grissom sent me to check on you, see if you need a hand," he paused, his nose crinkling. "What the Hell is that smell?"

Sara dragged a wrist across her forehead, pushing wisps of hair out of her eyes, "That would be Trinity Wescott. Well, what's left of her anyway. We've been processing her clothes, and the oil drum she was found in."

Greg's eyes were starting to water, "God that's like…I mean it's…"

Joslyn stood, smoothing out her hair with her de-gloved hand, "It's a decomp. There's nothing else to compare it to. And if you're going to be sick, the bucket's over there." She pointed to a metal bucket in the corner.

"Gross," was all he could say.

Sara smiled, "Well thanks for all your help Greg, we'll make sure to let Grissom know you stopped by."

"Hey," held his hands up in defense, "You're not getting rid of me that easily. Come on, the sooner we get this processed, the sooner you two can go home and sleep. And more importantly, grab a shower."

With the dual glare he received then, it was a wonder he didn't burst into flames. "Well," started Sara, standing up, "I don't know about you, Jos, but I'm going to go see what's in the fridge. And Greg, if you want to go through some of the victim's clothing, see if you can find any trace, you're welcome to it. I'll be back in fifteen." She strode quickly out of the room, leaving Greg with a very hostile woman on his hands. Nothing he wasn't used to, given certain experiences with Sara.

Joslyn, perhaps a little embarrassed by her outburst, removed her other glove and sat once again on the plastic bucket. Sighing, she pulled her hair free from its elastic and let it fall loosely around her shoulders. "Hey," said Greg, kneeling down eye-level with her, "you can't let it get to you, okay? If I've learned anything on this job, it's that. Worrying, letting yourself get worked up…it doesn't help anyone. And it certainly doesn't make for a good state of mind to process evidence."

"I know, I know, you're right," said Joslyn, looking at her feet. "I just really want to get this guy. I mean, after seeing what he did to Sara, and then the letter…God knows what he'll do next." She looked up at him, her green eyes full of concern.

"Don't worry, we won't let anything happen to you two. The team already decided that you and Sara are going to stay with some of us until all of this blows over. We've got your backs." He put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Now what say we go get something to eat before we get to work? I hate processing gelatinous, raunchy-smelling evidence on an empty stomach. Don't you?" He pulled her to her feet, and the two of them walked, laughing, to the break room.

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All they could see of Sara was her back as they walked into the break room, the rest of her deep within the mini fridge, searching for something edible. Greg leaned down close to her as she pushed aside containers of dated yogurt, and some experiment of Grissom's. His face inches from her shoulder, he said, "Find anything?"

Sara let out a yelp and smacked her head on the roof of the refrigerator. "Ow! Damn it Greg!" she groaned, rubbing her head. "What, it doesn't look like I have enough bruises, you thought I might need one more?"

"Sorry," said Greg with a shrug, "I didn't realize you were so jumpy. So did you find anything?"

"Yeah," she answered with a malicious grin. Reaching into the fridge, she pulled out a mystery substance in a clear Tupperware container, tossing it to him. "Bon appetite."

"Sick," said Greg, holding it up to the light. "What the Hell _is_ that?"

"Oh, probably one of Grissom's experiments. You know how he loves to use the communal fridge to store his blood."

"Well the freezer's always full," came a matter-of-fact voice from the doorway. Grissom stood with a bunch of files in his hands, his glasses slipping down over his nose. "Sara, I need you for a second. It looks like Jackie's got a match to a print they found on the frying pan," he turned to leave. "You too Jos," he called over his shoulder. Joslyn helped Sara to her feet, and the two of them followed Grissom down the hall, leaving Greg staring in awe at the enigmatic substance in his hand.

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Jackie was hunched over a microscope as they entered, brown curls spilling around her shoulders, blue lab coat trailing over the stool she sat on. "You beeped?" asked Grissom, shifting his stack of files.

Jackie looked up, "Yeah, the guy from days that handled the case managed to get a partial thumb print off the handle. I ran it though AFIS, it just kicked out a match." She leaned forward and turned a flat screen computer towards them. A large, fluorescent green thumb print glowed back at them. A black and white prison photo had popped up beside the thumbprint, featuring a dark eyed man with wild curls who sneered at them from the computer screen. Grissom turned to Sara, trying to gage her reaction as she saw her attacker for the first time. The green light of the computer screen reflected off of her face, accentuating the bruises. Grissom got the sick feeling in his stomach he'd been getting every time he looked at her lately; the unmistakable, sour feeling of guilt.

_I should have been there._

Her face was impassive, though. She showed no emotion as she read out the name of the man who had nearly killed her: "Charles Pierce, convicted for sexual assault and battery in 1992, and again in 1998, and then again in 2004. Sounds like a stand-up kind of guy, doesn't he?" She turned to Grissom who was staring at her with that look in his eyes that he'd had ever since the hospital. She wished he wouldn't. Without thinking, she reached out and ran a long finger up the bridge of his nose, pushing his slipping glasses back into place.

Even such a simple gesture was enough to send fire flying through both their bellies. "So," she continued, flustered, "do we have an address?"

Joslyn, who had been squinting at the screen, spoke, "No, doesn't look like it. He's homeless. But then," she tore her eyes from the screen to look at her co-workers, "What possible motive could he have had to attack you? I mean, it's obvious that he's not into politics, so he couldn't have been covering up anything for the Senator could he? I mean, maybe it's completely unrelated, like Wescott said. He could just be unstable."

"No, I don't think that's it," said Sara, staring at the screen again. She looked at the ceiling for a moment, remembering.

"What, what is it?" asked Grissom, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I just remembered something," she said softly. "I was kneeling on the ground. There was something…something under the desk," she closed her eyes, concentrating. "It was pink. 'Daddy"…." Her eyes snapped open. "Jackie did they send anything else to you to work for prints?"

"Uh, some tape lifts from the desk, and from the file cabinet…and a few post-it notes," answered the tech.

"An envelope, did they send you an envelope? A pink one, addressed to "Daddy?"

"Nope," she answered, shaking her head, curls flying. "As far as I know, no one recovered an envelope from the scene."

Sara smiled grimly, "It wasn't random. This Pierce guy hit me because he saw I was about to pick up an envelope that someone had left on the floor. My guess is that it was something that Trinity Wescott wrote to her father. Something the Senator wouldn't want us to see."

"But why would this Charles Pierce guy want to protect the Senator?" asked Joslyn, puzzled.

"Why don't we ask _him _that?" Grissom answered. "We'll call Brass and get him to check all the half-way houses, see what they can turn up. Chances are someone will recognize him."

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After a quick trip to Frank's Diner, (where Sara was thrilled to find out that Joslyn was a vegetarian too), Joslyn and Sara returned to the garage to finish processing the evidence. Greg was already there when they arrived, a white medical mask over his face to filter the stench. "Any luck?" asked Sara as they entered. Greg looked up; the triumphant smile evident even through his mask.

"Of course. After your excellent work scraping off all the fatty tissues, Sara, it left me a clean canvas to work with. I found some threads stuck to the vic's blouse, and a white powder under the collar of her shirt."

"Great," said Sara, "I do all the work and you get all the glory. Well at least we have something to work from now. How much left is there to process?"

Greg looked around, "Uh, just her underwear, and the inside of the barrel. The outside of it has obviously been wiped clean, so nothing probative there."

"Let's get to work," said Sara, grabbing some gloves.

Another hour later, they were up one red substance stuck to the victim's bra, and two blue fibers from the inside of the barrel. They sent all of it to trace, and were just about to draw straws to see who had to clean up the garage when Grissom walked in. "Sara? Brass just called, he's managed to track down Charlie Pierce, and they're bringing him in now. You two want to sit in on the interview?"

"Yeah, we'll be right there," answered Sara. "Sorry Greg, we've got to split, it looks like you'll have to finish up here on your own." Greg opened his mouth to protest, but they were already half way out the door.

The two of them met up with Grissom outside of the interview room. Joslyn followed Brass inside, but Sara held back for a moment, staring at Charles Pierce through the glass.

"Sara," said Grissom gently, "you don't have to do this. You don't have to talk to him. No one would think less of you if you didn't."

Sara took in a deep breath, "Grissom, I have to," she closed her eyes. "I have to," she whispered again, more to herself than to Grissom.

"Okay," Grissom conceded, "if that's how you feel. Let's go." He put a hand on her back and they walked into the chilly, blue light of interrogation room one. Joslyn had decided to stand, leaning up against the metal table, staring down at Charlie Pierce.

The homeless man had wild, tangled brown curls, just like in his prison photo. He was decidedly less clean in person than in his picture though, and his glittering black eyes stared out from underneath a bushy set of eyebrows. There was a thin layer of dirt covering him and his tattered clothing; his fingernails were caked with mud. His nose wrinkled as Sara sat down across from him. "What the hell is that smell? Smells like a dead rat or something." Sara and Joslyn shot each other a look, knowing full well it was them.

"Maybe it's the smell of your guilty conscience," offered Brass, leaning close to Pierce across the table, both hands flat on the surface.

"I don't know what the Hell you're talking about," snarled Pierce in a gruff voice.

"What, you don't remember me?" asked Sara, her voice dangerously quiet.

"Should I?"

Joslyn clicked her tongue, "Hmmm how soon they forget."

"Look, alls I was doing was minding my own business and some copper tosses me into a squad car and drags me in here! I don't know what the Hell's goin' on! "

"Well maybe this will refresh your memory," said Sara, turning her face into the light so he could better see the bruises. "And I don't wear this sling because I'm making a fashion statement. You attacked me in that office, and we both know it."

"Listen, you skinny bitch!" he roared, "I got no idea what you're talking about, got it? I never saw you before in my life! I didn't attack you, but whoever did should be given a medal!" Sara's body tensed, rigid, next to Grissom's. He slid a hand under the table and held onto hers, giving it a squeeze.

"Have you ever been to St. Mary's soup kitchen?" shot Joslyn, resting a hip in the edge of the table, arms crossed across her chest accusingly.

"No."

She raised her eyebrows, "A homeless man, with no income, and no welfare has never been to one of the only soup kitchens in town?" She leaned over, now eyelevel with him, her voice dropped to a whisper, "I find that hard to believe."

"I don't like their chili," he answered with a sadistic grin. "It's too runny."

Brass slammed his hand down on the table, making everyone except Grissom jump,

"Bullshit."

"Look," said Joslyn, sitting on the tabletop, looking down her nose at the suspect, "We know you were there. We found your prints." Pierce's eyes widened a fraction, and Joslyn noticed it. "Yes, that's right. Want to venture a guess as to where we found them? No? They were on the frying pan that was used to bludgeon Ms. Sidle over here," she pointed to Sara who stared unblinking at Charles Pierce. "Would you care to explain yourself before we arrest you, or would you prefer to go straight to booking?"

Charles Pierce looked frantically from one face to the other, mouth open. "Alright," said Sara, leaning forward, "We know you were under orders from someone. Tell us who, and I might consider dropping the charges against you."

Charles leaned forward across the table to intimidate her, but she stood her ground, unflinching. (Although her grip on Grissom's hand under the table tightened)

"Go to Hell. I'd take prison over that any day."

"Over what?" asked Grissom, speaking for the first time. "Did someone threaten you?"

Pierce said nothing. "You understand that we can put you in protective custody, Mr. Pierce. If you were willing to talk with us, we could keep you safe, give you a police escort, whatever you needed."

"You just don't get it, do you?" scoffed Pierce. "They _are _the police. You can't protect me from them."

"Alright, get him out of here," said Brass to the officer beside him. "This is getting us nowhere." The cop began to escort the criminal out, but Pierce stopped, addressing Joslyn. "Watch your back you little bitch, or you could end up a lot worse off than your friend here. And more importantly, keep an eye on _les enfants._" The officer pushed him out of the room; sending him lurching into the hall, before being dragged by the scruff of his neck out of sight.

Everything was still; no one moved, no one spoke, as the final words of Charles Pierce washed over them. The unsuccessful interrogation had taken any energy they'd had left, and the three CSI's sat in an exhausted stupor for a few minutes before Grissom finally spoke. "Come on girls, let's get some sleep."

He and Sara (reluctantly) let go of each other's hands and stood. Joslyn slid off the table, looking visibly shaken by what Pierce had said to her. "Hey," said Sara, walking to her, "just forget everything he said, alright? No one's going to get hurt." She put her arms around the smaller woman, giving her a friendly hug. Joslyn sank into her, closing her eyes for a moment. "Do you know what it means?" she asked, her voice muffled against Sara's chest.

Sara released her, "What what means?"

"_Les enfants._ He said to 'keep an eye on _les enfants_.'"

"No, what does that mean?" asked Sara.

"It's French for 'the children'. Keep an eye on the children," she answered. Sara looked at Grissom in horror.

"Let's not jump to conclusions, Sara. That could mean a lot of things. I'll get Brass to check into it, but for now? Home. We worked out a schedule for you two; you're under strict orders to stay within sight of one of the team until this case is finished. Joslyn you'll be spending tonight with Greg,"

"What'd he do to pull that off?" muttered Sara.

Grissom ignored her, "Tomorrow night you're with Catherine, and then the next night with Nick, then Warrick, then me. Sara, you're with me tonight, (Sara's stomach dropped) and then you're one step behind Joslyn for the rest of the week."

"I can hardly wait," came the sarcastic reply.

"You two go grab your things from the locker room, I'll tell Greg it's time to go home," he said, heading for the garage.

The two girls walked to the locker room, pulling out their jackets and bags. "So you have my cell number in case Greg tries anything, right?" laughed Sara as she sat down wearily on the bench.

"Yeah, and you have mine in case Grissom gets too handsy too. Assuming you don't want him to that is," she said, her eyes sparkling. Sara swatted her arm, coloring. "Oh come on, like it's so hard to figure out," laughed Joslyn, putting on her jacket. "I think you should go for it, you guys already act like a married couple." She received another shot to the arm for that one, and put her hands up in defense, "Hey! Alright, alright. I swear Sidle, if you weren't already in a sling, I might just put you in one."

"Well Grace, if you keep at it, you might just have one of your own," Sara smiled, pursing her lips.

Joslyn, laughing her delicious laugh, swung her bag over a shoulder. "See you tomorrow Sara."

"Night Jossie," Sara called after her.

Grissom appeared at the doorway, "You ready?"

"Yeah," Sara bent down and grabbed her purse, sighing inwardly at the awkward night ahead of her.

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After a small argument as to whose house they should stay at, they pulled into the lot at Sara's apartment building and walked into the lobby.

"I still think we should've gone to my place," said Grissom over the creaking of the elevator.

"Grissom, if that creepy "X" guy knows where I live, then he knows where you live too. Besides, I smell really bad, and I don't want to make your place reek like a decomp."

"Fair enough," he said, stepping off the elevator. They walked into her apartment, the sun just starting to appear on the horizon, making her white curtains glow like fire.

"Morning again?" said Sara, looking out the window, the brilliant colors of the sunrise illuminating her. "You know you need to sleep when all sense of time has been completely mixed up. What's it been, two days?"

"Nearly three," said Grissom, coming to stand beside her. He was standing awfully close.

"Well, make yourself comfortable," breathed Sara, "I'm just going to have a shower."

"Got your lemons?" he asked as she walked down the hall. Without turning around she held the bag up for him to see, her body silhouetted against the light from the bathroom window, and then closed the door behind her. She hadn't really thought about how she was going to manage showering with this stupid sling until she was standing in the bathroom with a very confused expression on her face.

Before, when Joslyn was here, she'd just cut her shirt off, and worn the tank top she had on underneath. The shirt had been ruined anyway, stained with her blood. But now, she didn't really have that option. She happened to like this tank top. With her one hand, she reached down and tried to pull her shirt up and over her head. All she managed to do, however, was get it stuck on her head, blinding herself. Panicking, she lost her balance and grabbed onto the shower curtain, trying to steady herself.

The shower bar fell out of place and landed in the bathtub with a loud CRASH, and Sara fell to her knees, unharmed. Now her shirt was completely back on again.

The door to the bathroom flew open, and Grissom was suddenly helping her to her feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked, worried.

"Yeah, just a few…technical difficulties," she answered as he put the bar to the shower curtain back in place.

"Do you want some help? I can call Joslyn, or Catherine," he said gently.

"No, no that's not necessary. I just…I mean could you…help me get some of my things off?"

"Oh," he said, straightening his glasses. "Uh, of course. Yes." She smiled, satisfied with how uncomfortable he was, (God knows he'd done that to her enough lately) and turned around, waiting. She felt his hands around her waist as he slowly lifted her tank top over her head, untangling it from her sling. He turned her to face him so he could unbutton the top of her jeans for her, figuring he'd let her do the rest. Every spot he touched on her body turned to fire, and Sara was silently thanking Charlie Pierce for putting her in a sling. He gently turned her back around and unclipped her bra, helping her out if it. She could feel his breath hot on her neck, prickling her skin. And her soul.

The soft morning sun gleamed on her bare flesh, and it was all Grissom could do to not put a hand out and run his fingers across her smooth back. "Well," he said hoarsely, "do you think you can manage from there?"

"I think so," she whispered back. "Thanks." She didn't turn around until she heard the door close behind her, and then she let the hot tears slip silently down her face. Removing the rest of her clothing, she stepped into the shower and let the steaming water run over her, washing away the memories of the past few days. She reached for the bag of lemons that she'd cut up, and began sliding them slowly across her body, through her hair, down her legs. With every stroke she was scrubbing away all the pain, all the fear, all the frustration, all the lust. (Well, most of the lust) She scrubbed until her skin couldn't take anymore, until she felt cleaner, body and soul, than she had in as long as she could remember.

She closed her eyes, letting the water run down her face, beading off of her sling and onto her stomach. A playful smile stretched across her face as the realization came to her that she would eventually be needing some help getting re-dressed too.

"Hey Grissom?"


	7. X marks the spot

Disclaimer: just borrowing, don't sue.

_A/N: hey guys, this is another long one. Whatever I'm not editing my story just because half the population has ADD. Anyway, I hope you like where this is going. Oh, and I made some very minor adjustments to the last paragraph in the previous chapter. So minor that most of you won't even notice them, but to a perfectionist like myself, they're huge. Lots of love, and thanks for the reviews you guys rock!_

"Hey Grissom?"

Grissom stood, unmoving, in the living room. Did he really just hear that? No, it must have been his imagination. Her voice echoed from the bathroom once more, nearly drowned over the rush of the running water. "Grissom, can you do me a favor?" He looked around for a moment, as though perhaps she was addressing someone else. When he had confirmed that he was indeed the only other person in the apartment, he slowly walked to the bathroom door.

"Sara, do you need something?" he called through the door.

"Yeah, would you mind grabbing some clothes for me out of my bedroom? Just go through the dresser, anything's fine," she called back.

Grissom walked down the hall and pushed open the door to her bedroom. The warm, feminine smell that met him was tantalizing. Stepping inside, he felt like a trespasser in the stillness of the room. He always found it strange to be alone in a part of someone else's house. He felt like an intruder, like every piece of furniture was staring at him as if to say, "Who the Hell are you?" It was no different now as he slipped inside and pulled open the top drawer to her dresser. Feeling like one of the many peeping toms he'd met in his line of work, he picked out a pair of underwear for her, choosing some plain black boyshorts. Still sexy, and this way he couldn't be accused of putting her in anything too risqué. He grabbed a lacy black bra from the top of the pile. Logically, she'd want them to match, right?

Moving down to the other drawers, he grabbed a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a black tank top, and headed back to the bathroom. The shower had stopped running, and she was standing, dripping in the doorway, with a towel wrapped tightly around her willowy body. Averting his eyes, he handed her the pile of clothes. "Can you manage?" he asked, not sure which answer he wanted to hear.

"I think so," she answered, her wet skin brushing his as she took her clothes. "Thank you." Grissom, both relieved and disappointed, nodded and headed back to the living room, seating himself on the squishy couch. A few minutes later a decidedly cleaner and better smelling Sara Sidle joined him, wincing at her body's many protestations as she sat down. She'd had way too much trouble with her bra, so she'd opted to go without. Her wet hair clung together in lazy ropes, framing her damaged face as the morning sun warmed her skin, her brown eyes on fire.

"The 24 hour time limit is up," coaxed Grissom, "why don't you take some of those painkillers now?" He was having a hard time trying not to notice how beautiful she looked. "You need sleep, you've got to give your body some time to heal."

Sara sighed, running her hand through her wet hair. "You're right. I can't even think straight I'm so tired." She scrunched her eyes shut for a second, rubbing them. Grissom stood and grabbed the medication she'd left on the counter, handing it to her with a glass of water. "Thanks," she said, giving him a tired smile. She downed the medication and curled up on the couch, resting her head in her hand. "And thank you," she continued slowly, putting a hand on his, "for what you did at St. Mary's. Giving me CPR, I mean. You saved my life."

Their eyes met, and both knew the time had come to let it all out. But the truth was, there was nothing either of them could say. There comes a point when words just aren't enough, and this was it. They'd each analyzed every sideways glance, pondered every gesture, and coveted every innocent touch enough over the past six years to know exactly how the other felt. After so long of that mental torture a conversation about "feelings" and "relationships" was laughable.

So instead, they sat in a comfortable silence, letting all the unspoken words settle around them like dust. The thought of Sara's attack weighed heavily on both their minds, making them think things they'd never before allowed themselves to think.

After a time, Sara's eyelids started to become heavy, the medication already working its magic. Without a thought, she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and crawled towards Grissom, curling up next to him. There were no thoughts of sex as her head came to rest on his shoulder, or of the consequences that might come the following day. They just needed to be close to each other. Removing his glasses, Grissom pulled the blanket over both of them, putting an arm around her, breathing her in. As the morning sun warmed the violet walls of the living room, the sweet scent of lemons lulled them both into a deep, satisfying sleep.

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12 blocks away at Greg's apartment, Joslyn was just stepping out of the shower in his tiny bathroom when she heard her cell phone ringing. "Shit," she muttered, grabbing a towel and dashing through the door into Greg's bedroom. She had been surprised at how clean he kept things, and how well mannered he was. She had actually been expecting something closer to a frat house. "Greg!" she called into the living room, rifling through the pile of clothes on the bed for her buried phone, one hand holding up her towel. "Greg, have you seen my – oh never mind!" she cut herself off as she saw a glint of silver underneath her bra. Not recognizing the number, she flipped her cell phone open and answered with a confused, "Hello?"

"_CSI Grace?"_ came a husky voice from the other end of the phone.

"…Yes." Said Joslyn, trying to figure out where she's heard the voice before. Greg, having heard her shouts from the kitchen, came walking in. "Hey did you save me any lem-" Joslyn held up a hand to stop him, listening intently to the speaker on the phone. Something on her face made him stop short.

"I warned you, didn't I Grace? You and that Sidle woman. I warned you and you didn't listen. I'm giving you one last chance to drop the Wescott investigation. One, got it? I can't be blamed for what will happen to your sorry asses if you don't. A slut like Trinity deserved anything she got, and it's not worth your life, or your partner's, to find out who did it to her."

"Who in the Hell are you?" Joslyn shouted into the phone.

"Just call me "X"," the voice whispered into the phone.

"Why are you doing this?"

Her voice was panicky, and her whole body was shaking. Greg took that as his cue to walk forward and grab the phone from her, putting it to his ear in time to hear a muffled, tinny voice saying, "Let's just say I wouldn't want to see such a pretty face as yours go to waste." The phone went dead.

Joslyn, shaking in her towel, wet hair clinging to her, sat down heavily on the bed. Her breathing was erratic, and her eyes wide. Greg tossed the cell phone onto the bed and pulled her to her feet, taking her into a tight hug. He could feel her shivering against him, pressing her face into his chest. She pulled away after a moment, running a hand through her wet hair in a very similar fashion to the way Sara had run a hand through her own only minutes ago across town. "Has the entire world gone mad?" she panted. "I feel like I'm in a bad detective movie! Anonymous death threats, brutal beatings, phone calls from some heavy-breathing Deepthroat character…this is not what I had in mind when I decided to become a criminalist!" she was looking at him wildly; her towel had started to slip.

"It's not always like this, I swear," Greg said, trying in vain to calm her down. "Admittedly it has been a little detective movie-esque lately, but normally it's a lot more boring. You should actually be living it up while you can, before an entire shift consists of comparing tire treads and piecing together shards of broken window."

Joslyn let out a reluctant giggle, straightening her towel. Greg continued, "Let's just call Brass and tell him what happened. Maybe he can trace the call through your cell phone provider. And then you really should get some sleep. You're gonna burn yourself out, Grace."

"Thanks Greg," she smiled, beads of water still running down her arms.

"You get dressed before you freeze to death, I'll get a hold of that adorable detective we all know and love."

Half an hour later, after a promise from Brass to check into it, and a squad car placed outside the building to keep an eye on things, a lemon scented Greg walked out of the bathroom to find Joslyn passed out in his bed. Normally, some sort of photographic evidence would have been secured, but under the circumstances Greg just sighed wistfully and climbed in beside her. (After all, he wasn't supposed to let her out of his sight, right?) The room was bright with sunlight, the dusty air visible as it filtered lazily through the sunbeams. Warm and relaxed, Greg sank immediately into a heavy slumber. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was Joslyn curled beside him, her long lashes resting gently on her cheeks, and her blondish hair splayed on the pillow underneath her head.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

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In a city like Las Vegas, where even the public library is a 24 hour establishment, the population becomes divided into two groups: people who work days, and people who work nights. It's a very rare thing for someone who works the graveyard to have any sort of lasting relationship with someone who works days, mostly because it takes an entire day of calculated cat naps to get your internal clock in sync with theirs, and another to get it back to your own. A day shifter usually only comes into contact with a night shifter in passing, and so it was that a very well rested Sara Sidle inclined her head to a fellow CSI on his way home. Making her way to the locker room, Sara contemplated this funny facet of life in Vegas, completely unaware that she was about to plough into a short, blonde woman.

"Ow! Hey!" came the surprised protests as she knocked into Joslyn, sending her backwards onto the bench where she landed smack on her butt. Joslyn, half-smiling, half-scowling, rubbed her backside as she eyed the metal slats of the bench. "That is going to leave a very strange looking bruise."

Sara, hand at her mouth in shock, giggled apologetically. "Sorry, I didn't see you."

"Don't worry about it," laughed Joslyn, "everyone else is out to get me, it figures that it wouldn't be any different with you."

"What do you mean?" asked Sara, unzipping her jacket. Joslyn related the phone call from the night before. Sara's face darkened, "You should have called me."

Joslyn put up a hand, "There wasn't anything you could've done. We called Brass, he took care of it, and he's looking into tracing the call as we speak. The only thing calling you would have accomplished is deprive you of much needed sleep. Speaking of which," her tone changed, "how was it last night?" Her mouth curled into a mischievous grin.

Sara pursed her lips.

"Oh come on, you're not going to tell me anything?" pleaded Joslyn.

Sara opened her mouth to reply, but Warrick walked into the room, interrupting.

"'Scuse me ladies," he began.

"Hey Warrick," they answered in unison.

"Brass said he didn't have any luck tracing the cell number. Looks like the call was blocked." Noting the disappointed looks on their faces, he added, "But I just talked to Hodges, he says he's got some information for you on the trace evidence you sent him. He's ready when you are."

"Nice," answered Sara, standing as she slammed her locker shut. "Let's go." With a wink, he led them down the hall to the lab where Grissom was waiting with Hodges. Grissom, with a weary look on his face as Hodges nattered away, gratefully cut off the eager tech mid-sentence to greet his co-workers.

"Joslyn, I heard about the phone call, are you alright?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Thanks, I'm fine," she answered.

Leaving it at that, Grissom turned back to Hodges, whose ears were glowing red in the light of the setting sun. "So what do you have for us?"

"Well," he began, "the fibers that were collected from her fist turned out to be from a suit. A high-end suit made by Armani. I managed to pinpoint it to their fall 2005 collection, powder blue pinstripe serial number 1024879. Not exactly my color, though, I prefer-"

"So she possibly pulled it off of her attacker during a struggle?" interrupted Grissom.

"Makes sense," answered Sara, "he tries to hit her with something, she grabs onto a fistful of suit, tries to push him off…"

"What about the red substance we found on her bra?" asked Joslyn.

"Nail polish," came the abrupt reply. "Revlon quick dry formula." He was speaking quickly so as to prevent interruption. "There was a piece of fingernail stuck in it, I sent it to DNA."

"Good work Hodges," Grissom congratulated. The lab rat's face lit up, and he continued the rest of his presentation with renewed gusto.

"As for the blue fibers in the barrel, they were silk. And from the weave and the way they were processed, they most likely came from a woman's blouse."

"Well the vic was wearing a white cotton shirt," pointed out Warrick, "so it probably wasn't hers."

"A high end suit," started Sara, "and a woman's silk blouse. Red nail polish present on the victim's bra… Looks like we might have two killers on our hands."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at her, "The plot thickens."

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"I got a match," pronounced a smug looking Mia as everyone entered the DNA lab.

"You did?" asked Sara, thrilled.

Mia pointed to the glowing screen on top of her desk, "Gloria Settler, R.N."

"She's a nurse," said Joslyn, "what's she in the system for?"

"Nurses aren't allowed to have criminal records," added Warrick, leaning against the desk.

"She didn't," Mia countered, "all hospital employees at Desert Palms are required to have themselves on file; prints, DNA, everything."

"Did you get an address?" asked Grissom.

"1254 Stormcloud lane," said Mia, putting her hands behind her head in satisfaction. If it weren't for the fact that she was gorgeous, her chocolate skin glowing in the blue light of the instruments surrounding her, her cocky attitude would have been too much. But, given that she was beautiful, her smugness was simply an endearing quirk.

"Thank you Mia," they all called as they filed out, Warrick throwing her a lopsided smile.

"All in a day's work!" she called at their backs.

They stopped in the hallway, figuring out what steps to take next. "Right," began Grissom, "Joslyn, call Brass. Get him to meet us at Gloria Settler's residence. Warrick, where's Catherine?"

Warrick jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, "She took Nick with her to a B and E on the Strip. She said it was pretty straightforward, it'll probably only take a few hours to process. She said to call her if we find anything for her to do, but for now 'too many cooks in one kitchen.' I think she took Greg too."

"That sounds like Catherine, alright," muttered Grissom. "Okay, let's sign out a Tahoe and see what Ms. Settler has to tell us." They all headed for the parking lot, Sara calling "shotgun" as they headed for the SUV.

"Yeah, picture that," laughed Warrick as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Hey!" scowled Sara, swatting him and getting in the backseat beside Joslyn.

"What you're too good for the back?" said Joslyn in mock offense.

"I'm too tall, my legs get all crammed in,"

"Suck it up, buttercup," teased Warrick from the front.

"Okay, children can we keep it civil please?" said Grissom, getting into the front.

"Speaking of which," said Joslyn, leaning forward between the two front seats, "did Brass find anything out about les enfants?"

"Yes," said Grissom as he turned out of the parking lot. "Apparently, les enfants is the name of a popular gay club on Fremont. I figured we could check it out after we talk to Gloria Settler."

"I've never been to a gay club before," said Joslyn, "I'm excited now."

Sara laughed, her bruised face stretching into a smile. Ten minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of a beige rancher, settled blandly in between…two other beige ranchers.

"Ugh," shuddered Sara, "cookie-cutter houses. Creepy."

"How can they even tell whose is whose?" asked Joslyn, bewildered as she looked down the long street lined with beige replicas of the house that stood in front of them.

"Good question," came Brass' voice from behind them.

"You made it," said Warrick, "we were beginning to wonder."

"Yeah, yeah, Brown. Tell it to someone who cares," joked the gruff policeman.

"I'm going to check out the back while you guys talk to this girl," he said, disappearing into the backyard.

The other four walked to the front door, the night slowly creeping across the impeccably manicured lawn. Brass knocked on the door, and moments later the door opened a fraction, a weary blue eye peeking out at them.

"Yes?"

"Gloria Settler?" asked Brass, holding up his badge.

The eye widened, and the door opened the rest of the way, revealing a slim, pretty woman with jet-black hair. She appeared to be in her mid to late twenties, with stunning blue eyes that contrasted nicely with her dark hair. She bit a full lip in nervous habit, and said, "What's this about?

"May we come in?" asked Grissom.

Gloria eyed him for a moment before giving them a reluctant "sure" and opening the door for them. She led them to a moderate sized living room, gesturing for them to sit on the couch. Joslyn looked around, noting that at least the house wasn't quite so bland on the inside. Although all the walls were white, the art and family photos that decorated them gave it more of a human feel. She sat beside Sara, who sat next to Grissom. Brass leaned against the arm of the couch as Gloria Settler took a seat across from them.

"Can I get any of you something to drink?"

"Thank you, no," said Brass, crossing his arms across his chest. "We were actually hoping you could give us some information."

"Information about what?" she asked, confused.

"Trinity Wescott."

"Trin…what about her?"

"What was your relationship with her?"

Gloria began wringing her hands, her blue eyes wide with fear, "Did something happen to her?" she choked in a strangled whisper.

"Yes," spoke Sara, "she was killed. Her body was found abandoned a few days ago."

Gloria gasped, standing, her eyes full of tears. "What! Oh God," she began to sob uncontrollably, putting a hand on the arm of the chair to steady herself. Brass guided the grieving woman back into her chair, and asked Joslyn to get her some water.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," said Sara, genuinely. It pained her so much to see things like this, and even more to know there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Joslyn returned from the kitchen with a glass of water, and sat on the armrest with a hand on Gloria's back, offering her the glass. Gloria raised her tear stained face long enough to take a sputtering sip of water and then returned to wailing. Joslyn smoothed a hand sympathetically across Gloria's back.

"Ms. Settler," spoke Grissom, "I understand that you're grieving. But it would be such an immense help if you could just answer a few questions for us. For Trinity."

That was enough to make the distraught woman rub a hand over her swollen eyes and nod her dark head, "Anything."

"What was your relationship with Trinity?" repeated Brass.

"We…we were lovers." Came the reply in a whisper.

"So that would explain why we found your nail polish on her underwear," said Grissom. Gloria nodded, coloring.

"And when was the last time you saw her?" asked Brass.

"Nearly two weeks ago. Her and her family were going to be hosting a Catholic camp for disabled children. I wasn't expecting her back until next week."

"How come you didn't go along?" asked Grissom, looking up from his notepad.

"I couldn't get the time off work. Plus, I'm not really religious, and spending three weeks with Sullivan Wescott was not exactly something a 'heathen lesbian' like me would want to do."

"How long had the two of you been seeing each other?" asked Sara.

"Two and a half years. We were engaged," she grimaced, trying to retain her composure, and then looked back to Sara, "She was murdered wasn't she?"

"What makes you say that?" asked Sara.

"Her father," answered Gloria, the bitterness in her voice evident, " He never approved of us. He said that Trinity was just 'going through a phase'. He used to tell people that I was Trin's cousin. He even had her in a fake relationship with some guy named Brad. He'd get them to go to benefits and charity balls together, to make sure people would see them. He was ashamed of her, and that hurt her so much. She only went out with Brad in hopes that her father would finally accept her. But he never did, and I tried to tell her he never would. The truth is he hated her, and everything she represented. If anything happened to her, the Senator would be the first person I'd be pointing the finger at." She looked at the ceiling, "This is my fault, all of this."

"Why would you say that?" asked Joslyn.

She sobbed, putting a hand over her eyes, "Because it was my idea for Trinity to come out to her father. She'd been living two lives for so long, it was tearing her apart. So finally I said to her, 'Trin, you've got to tell him. He's your father, he'll love you no matter what.' I said…" she stopped, the memory too painful. After a moment she continued, "I said 'the truth will set you free Trin.' So she finally told him."

"And what happened?" asked Joslyn.

"I've never seen anyone so angry in my life. He threatened to disown her. The only thing that stopped him from doing it was Trinity's mother. That's when he came up with the compromise; Brad. He said as long as she never went public about being a lesbian, he'd tolerate her presence in the family. I thought he might kill her that day. And if I and her mother hadn't been there, I know he would have."

Sensing they should leave her alone in her grief, Brass and the others stood. "Thank you very much for your time Ms. Settler," said Grissom. "And again, we're sorry for your loss."

She nodded, not bothering to stand.

"We'll be in touch," added Brass as they headed out the door.

"Oh, one more thing," said Grissom, stopping. "Would you happen to own a silk blouse? A blue one?"

Gloria, confused, shook her head. "No, I don't like wearing silk. It attracts too much static."

"Thank you," said Grissom, not bothering to explain himself.

"Well, now we know what was in the envelope in Marjorie Hudson's office," said Sara as they headed for the car. "A wedding invitation. Looks like he wanted to keep his daughter's sexuality under wraps." Warrick, who was already in the front seat, gave them the thumbs down from the window: he hadn't found anything.

"But," argued Joslyn, "that still doesn't explain why Charles Pierce attacked you for it. Unless the Senator hired him to do his dirty work. But why would he hire a homeless man to do that? I mean couldn't he have gotten one of his lackeys to do it?"

"Ah, but 'when beggars die, there are no comets seen.'" interjected Grissom. "Charlie Pierce is expendable, and furthermore he can't be traced back to the Senator."

"Not yet at least," said Sara. Sighing, she stepped into the backseat next to Joslyn, and remained quiet the whole drive to Les Enfants.

As they pulled into a parking stall in front of the club, everybody save Grissom and Sara stepped out, heading towards the booming beat that was emanating from the club. Grissom turned to face the backseat, silhouetted by the blinding lights of the strip. "You okay?"

Sara leaned forward putting her chin in her hand. "Just frustrated. I feel like we're chasing monsters with a butterfly net. Even if we do manage to prove that the Senator killed his daughter, chances are he'll get off without a scratch." She gave another exasperated sigh.

Grissom reached out a hand and touched her cheek, tracing his fingers gently across her bruises. The neon lights reflected in her clear brown eyes as she looked at him, leaning her cheek into his hand. "No one is above the law Sara. If he killed her, he'll pay for it."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Gloria Settler was right. The truth will set you free. But, if the truth is that you killed your own daughter, it'll imprison you just as easily.

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	8. A Piercing discovery

Disclaimer: not mine

A/N sorry this took a bit longer, I've been a busy girl, what can I say? Thanks to everyone who reviewed, keep it up darlings, hope you like it! (and I haven't been feeling well, so let's blame any mistakes I made on that, shall we?)- Solomynne

The inside of a nightclub is very similar to that of an overcrowded elevator:

It's hot, it's stuffy, and there's a lot of unwelcome touching. These are three of the main factors why Sara Sidle avoided them at all costs, and as she and Grissom entered the doors of Les Enfants, all the many other reasons came flooding back to her as well. The throbbing beat of the music was so loud Sara could feel it vibrating in her chest.

"How are these people not deaf?" Grissom yelled at her. "Don't they know that listening to music this loudly has been proven to cause hearing damage?"

"What?" Sara yelled back, cupping a hand to her ear. Grissom waved a "never-mind" hand at her, and the two of them began scanning the crowd for their co-workers. The place was completely dark, save the occasional colored laser slicing through the crowd; sub-par lighting for finding your own nose, never mind other people. Squinting in the darkness, Sara reached for Grissom's hand and began to pull him through the sea of people, her eyes trained on the back of a familiar looking blonde head.

They wove their way through the thick throng of dancing people, brushing past a pair of guys gyrating to some obscure electropop song. Sara smiled to herself, wishing she could see Grissom's face as the two men began to grind. Then again, knowing Grissom, he probably looked completely impassive, save perhaps a hint of mild curiosity. "Joslyn!" called Sara. The girl didn't turn, no surprise since the music seemed to have gotten louder, if that was even possible.

Sara and Grissom emerged, sweaty, from the other side of the crowd. Panting, Sara let go of Grissom as she approached the blonde girl who was now leaning up against the bar, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. The girl, who turned out to not be Joslyn, spun around and met Sara's eyes with blatant interest on her face. She was wearing tight leather pants and a revealing red halter that strained against her breasts as she gave Sara a once-over with a pair of small, dark eyes. Sara, wondering how she could possibly have thought this was Joslyn, took a step back in surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

"You're sure I'm not who you're looking for?" asked the woman, biting a lip as she reached out to run a hand down Sara's free arm. Grissom watched the interaction with growing interest. Momentarily speechless, Sara's mouth hung open as she searched for an answer that wouldn't end with a bitch slap, but was saved from having to respond by a warm hand on her arm. She looked to see Joslyn smiling up at her, and relief washed through her body. Putting an arm around Joslyn she looked back at the woman, who raised her eyebrows and backed off, but not without running her tongue across her lips suggestively.

Sara, feeling both shocked and slightly aroused, allowed herself to be led by Joslyn towards the back room where Brass and Warrick were talking to the club owner.

"What was that all about, 'darling'?" laughed Joslyn, as Sara took her arm from around her shoulder.

"I thought she was you!"

"Oh come now, you know my leather pants are at the cleaners," scoffed Joslyn, her eyes crinkling with laughter.

"Ha ha," answered Sara sarcastically. Brass looked up as they walked into the back room with Grissom in tow. He gestured to the two seats that surrounded the small wooden table he was seated at with Warrick and the club owner. The room smelled of cigarettes and stale beer, and was lit by an eerie red light bulb, casting their faces into shadow. The music was still loud even with the doors closed, but it was possible to have a conversation now.

"Girls," he started, "this is Damien Price, club owner. Mr. Price," he said, turning to the owner, "this is Sara Sidle and her partner Joslyn Grace. And this is Gil Grissom, night shift supervisor for CSI."

"So many of you?" asked the aging man, raising a thick eyebrow. He was short, only a little taller than Joslyn, and he had his dark hair slicked back in a John-Travolta-style swoop. The jeans he was wearing were so tight they left nothing to the imagination, and his black silk shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, revealing several gold chains hanging from his neck. He peered at them from squinty blue eyes; a gold tooth peeking out from his small mouth every time he spoke. Overall, the cheese factor on this guy was probably an 8.5 on a 1-10 scale.

"It's a big case," explained Jim, taking out his notebook. "Now, can you tell me anything about Trinity Wescott?"

"Who?" asked Price.

"Trinity Wescott, she's Sullivan Wescott's daughter. We're working a case that she's involved in, we need any information you might have on her."

"Sorry buddy," answered Price, scratching his head, " I don't know who either of those people are."

"Sullivan Wescott is the Nevada State Senator," Sara responded, "Trinity is his daughter."

"Ah, I was never much for politics," he answered, waving a ring-cluttered hand.

"Here," said Brass, handing him a photo of Trinity, "maybe this will refresh your memory."

Price regarded the photo, knitting his eyebrows in the dim lighting. "Yeah I recognize her. I don't know any Trinity, but that looks like Gina Matthews. She was a regular, used to come in for a drink and a dance with her girlfriend a couple times a week."

"She could have been using an alias," said Sara to Grissom over the music, "trying to keep from being recognized." He nodded in agreement. Sara spoke to Price, "Did she ever have any problems? Get into any fights with anyone, something like that?"

Damien Price shook his head, "Naw, Gina was a good kid, she was no troublemaker. She was just here to have a good time."

Warrick nudged Brass with an elbow; "You think your pal Pierce was just leading us on a goose chase? Maybe there's nothing for us here."

Damien narrowed his eyes, "Pierce? Charlie Pierce? What's that jerk-off been saying now?"

"You know him?" asked Joslyn.

"Yeah, he and I used to co-own this club together. Bastard was a real good friend of mine."

"So what happened?" asked Warrick.

"He started using. Got really heavy into drugs, and debt. Eventually, I had to tell him to get lost. No way in Hell I was going to let him drag me and Les Enfants down with him. Anyway he got really bitter about the whole thing. Kept showing up here, hassling the customers, ranting and raving. I think the last time I saw that guy he was begging for change in front of Circus-Circus. Damn shame."

"You have no clue as to why Mr. Pierce would tell us that Les Enfants had something to do with Trinity, er – Gina's death?" asked Sara.

"No," shrugged Pierce, "the guy's crazy. He was always talking about Big Brother watching us all, that kind of thing. You know now that you mention it; I remember Gina was one of the people he flipped out on. Telling her to watch her back, that people were out to get her.

"And how did she respond to that?" asked Grissom, intrigued.

Damien shrugged, "Just like anyone else would, she got freaked out. He practically had her cornered, yelling this and that about her 'being watched'. He kept repeating that part, that she was being watched. He also kept saying 'he knows what you're doing', whatever that means. It really got to her though. She started to cry, and that's when her girl Gloria got her out of there."

"Do you know much about her? Gloria?" asked Sara.

Damien gave another shrug, "Just stuff I've picked up from her being here so often. She's a nurse or something right?" Sara nodded. "Yeah her and Gina, or Trinity I guess, were really in it."

"In it?" asked Joslyn, confused.

"Yeah you know, 'in it'. Like in love. Those two were head over heels; you get to know after so many years of people watching. Awful about what happened."

"Alright, thank you Mr. Price, we'll be in touch," said Brass, standing.

"Yeah sure, anytime," answered Price, rising with them. "And hey, anytime any of you want to come for a dance, you can consider the cover charge waived."

They each shook his hand, Joslyn promising to take him up on the offer as they filed out of the room, making their way through the mass of dancers on the dance floor. Their spirits, and hope for the case, rising with every beat of the music.

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Back at the lab, Greg walked into the layout room where Sara and Joslyn were going over case details. So far the only thing they'd been able to come up with was more questions. Why didn't the Senator tell them about the Catholic camp he and Trinity were supposed to be at? And why had he lied to them about the fact that Trinity was in a relationship? Obviously he wanted to keep her sexuality under wraps, but to lie to the police seemed a little extreme. Greg regarded the two women poring over the case files. They were bent with their heads together, hunched over several manila folders with the light from the layout table glowing on their faces.

They looked up as he walked into the room, their faces breaking into tired smiles. "Hello ladies, find anything interesting?"

"Well," started Sara, rubbing a bruised eye, "we know the Senator wasn't being honest with us about…well, anything. I'm thinking we should get him back here and tell him we know that Trinity was gay. If he knows we're aware of the fact, he may be more willing to give up some helpful information."

"But," interjected Joslyn, "if he _was_ the one who killed her, which is looking more and more likely with every passing second, then he's not going to give us anything no matter what we know."

"True," sighed Sara. She looked up at Greg and noticed his eyes were brimming with excitement. She sat up in interest, "You have something, don't you?"

He plopped into the seat across from them, nodding.

"Well?" urged Joslyn.

"First of all I think Jos is right, Wescott's not going to give us anything. The risk of jeopardizing the election for himself is too great, whether he did it or not. Now, what we need is a whole new lead to run on. Something so great that it could change the entire outcome of the case, something _so_ outrageous--"

"--Spit it out Greg, we're tired," interrupted Sara.

Scowling at her for ruining his presentation, he paused for suspense before saying slowly, "Charlie Pierce is Marjorie Hudson's son."

The two girls stared at him in disbelief; neither of them could speak for a moment. Eventually, Joslyn was able to sputter a "…what?"

"How do you know?" asked Sara.

"Well," began Greg, smiling smugly as he put his feet up on the table, "while you two were out dancing at some club on the strip, I was here doing all the real work."

"What are you talking about?" said Sara in exasperation as she shoved Greg's feet off of their case files.

"The necklace that you found at the scene, and the footprint Grissom got a mold of were just sitting, forgotten, in the evidence locker. So, I took it upon myself to analyze them and I think it's safe to say I've got the case breaker right here in my hand." He waved the evidence bag containing the silver necklace they'd found in front of their faces.

"First of all, we hadn't forgotten about them," Joslyn retorted, taking her eyes off the plastic baggie to glare at him, "we were just preoccupied following leads, and, you know, actually _working_ the case."

"Unlike some people who sit around the break room drinking coffee all day," added Sara.

Greg feigned being offended before retaliating, "You guys are just jealous."

"Jealous of what!" yelled Sara, "you still haven't told us anything!"

"Oh, right," he sat up straight. Sara rolled her eyes as he continued, "So I compared the blood on the necklace to Trinity Wescott, and it was a match, surprise surprise. _But _there was an additional donor in the sample, probably from a cut sustained while ripping the necklace off in a struggle. I ran the DNA through the system, and although I didn't get an exact match, I did find someone who had 11 alleles in common with the necklace-ripper."

"Who?" asked Joslyn.

"Charlie Pierce." The girls looked at each other, and back to him. " Eleven alleles in common is more than enough to suggest a relative. The thing is, whoever it was wasn't in the system, so I started digging. Apparently Charlie Pierce, born Charles Peter Pierce Jr. was born to parents Charles Pierce Sr. and Marjorie Hudson-Pierce, who changed her name back to Hudson after her husband's death in 1998. She filed a missing persons report on her son back in 2000. They never found him."

"Until now," finished Joslyn.

Sara smiled radiantly, "It looks like Marjorie forgot to tell us something."

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"What do you mean you can't find her?" asked a very burnt out Sara Sidle.

She was slumped in a chair in Brass' office between Joslyn and Grissom. They'd been waiting for word on Marjorie Hudson for the past five hours, to no avail.

"I mean exactly that, I can't find her. She's nowhere to be found Sara," defended Brass as Sara let out a frustrated growl. "She's not at home, and from what my guys are telling me it looks like she hasn't been there in days. The chef at St. Mary's says she hasn't turned up for work the past two days in a row, I think it's safe to say she's skipped town."

"Not surprising," said Grissom, "she had to know we'd figure out her relation to Charlie eventually. And she probably also knew once we figured that out it would only be a matter of time before we started looking at her for this murder."

"I'm still not sure about that," said Joslyn quietly. "I mean I know that her blood was on Trinity's necklace, but that doesn't mean she killed her. At least not on her own."

"Why, what are you thinking?" asked Sara, her head in her hand.

"Well, I'm guessing the silk fibers we found in the oil drum are from Marjorie too. But they were at the bottom of the barrel. And the necklace, something Trinity most likely wore all the time, could have been ripped off not in a struggle, but as a means of slowing down the identification process. It just seems to me like all the evidence connects her to disposing of the body, but not the actual murder itself."

"Yeah," agreed Sara, "I still like the Senator for this one too."

"Well regardless of who you two 'like' for this murder, Marjorie is at the very least guilty of obstruction of justice and of being an accomplice after the fact," reminded Grissom.

He watched Sara nod her tired agreement, noting that her stamina was significantly depleted since her attack. She was having trouble keeping her eyes focused, and her eyelids were half closed.

"Well I'll keep looking, and I'll let you know when I find something," said Brass, bringing Grissom's attention back to the conversation. "There's always a paper trail."

Grissom thanked them and the three of them left Brass' office in a slightly less optimistic mood than when they had entered.

"Well I think it's time we called it a night. Or…day rather," said Grissom, looking out the window at the sun creeping across the horizon.

"Good idea," yawned Joslyn, heading for the locker room as she rubbed her bleary green eyes.

Sara followed her, sitting down on the bench she leaned her head against the cool metal of her locker.

"You okay?" asked Joslyn, putting a hand on Sara's hair.

"Mm just tired," she answered with closed eyes.

"You want me to find Greg, tell him to take you home?"

Sara opened her eyes and slowly sat up straight. "To tell you the truth the last thing I want is to go to sleep in someone else's house and wake up in a strange apartment. I just want to crawl into my own bed and sleep this day away. To Hell with that stupid schedule."

Joslyn sat down beside her, looking at Sara's beaten face in concern. "Sara, should you really be alone? I mean what if that creepy "X" guy comes back?"

Sara sighed, "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I'm going home" And with that she grabbed her things and walked out, leaving Joslyn sitting on the bench, staring after her.

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Sara slid into the front seat of her car, relishing in the muffled silence that met her as she slammed the door shut. The air inside the car was still, and warm. She took in a deep breath and laid her head on the steering wheel, cradling her face in her arms. She knew she shouldn't go home alone, and she felt bad for being sharp with Joslyn. After all, Jos was just looking out for her. The truth is she didn't really want to be alone, she just didn't want to be with Greg. She was so tired that she might've fallen asleep right there on the steering wheel, with thoughts of Joslyn and Grissom and Mr. X whirling in her mind, had it not been for the soft knock on the passenger side window.

She looked up to see Grissom peering at her through the glass, and without lifting her head, she hit the unlock button on her keys and let him in. He sat down beside her, closing the door beside him without a word. They sat there in silence for a few beats before he said, "You weren't planning on sneaking off on us were you?"

"I was thinking about it," she mused.

"Sara, do you realize the danger you're putting yourself in?"

"Yes," she answered honestly.

"Then why do you do it?"

"I don't know. Maybe I just don't care," she said softly.

"Why don't you care about your own well-being?"

"When no one else in your life has ever cared about you, it's only natural that you wouldn't either." She couldn't believe that she was saying these things to him. These were things she didn't even allow herself to think, let alone say out loud. _It must be the painkillers_ she thought.

"Sara you know that's not true, we all care about you very much."

"How come you never say it? Why don't you ever tell me that you care about me?"

He had obviously not expected to have this conversation. As he fiddled with his glasses, he managed to answer her. "It would be inappropriate for me, as your superior, to say anything like that. Besides, it was always been implied. I just assumed you knew."

"I do know." She answered.

"Then what's the problem!" he asked. He hated when she set him up like this.

"Because when you assume, you make an ass of u and me, remember?" she asked, smiling.

He laughed in spite of himself. "Look, it's too late, and we're too tired to have this discussion. So why don't you move over and I'll drive us to your place." Seeing her raise her eyebrows he quickly added, "I'm not letting you sleep alone, whether you like it or not."

She definitely approved of the idea, and he knew it. "Fine," she answered calmly, "but I'm driving."

"Sara, how do you expect to drive standard when your arm is in a sling?"

She hadn't thought about that. Tossing the keys at him, he walked around the car as she slid over, resting her head on the window. She was asleep before he'd even pulled out of the driveway, her deep, even breathing the only sound in the car. Grissom watched her as they sat at a red light, the morning sun creeping across the sky, splashing pink and orange across the horizon.

Another day.


	9. A promise is a promise

_Disclaimer: They're not mine, okay! So stop asking!_

_A/N: hey guys, sorry this took so long, I'm fighting Strep throat up here. Anyway, I made it extra long to make up for the wait. Hope you like it darlings! Oh and I think you'll all be happy with the GSR factor on this one. Let me know if I went too far or not far enough, I'm interested to hear people's different opinions. And speaking of GSR, I think my mouth was open for a good 45 seconds at the end of the finale. _

The soft moonlight slowly made its way across the bedroom floor, creeping along the milk-white bedspread like a wayward ghost. Sara opened one eye and then the other, relishing in the gentle touch of the full moon on her skin. The open window allowed the sweet night wind to play with the curtains, the whispering hush lulling her in and out of warm dreams.

Never could she recall ever feeling more safe, more relaxed. She found it funny that she'd never enjoyed having lovers – or otherwise – in her bed for any reason other than sex. She'd always found it so suffocating, like she was being smothered as they held her. And yet here she was with Grissom's body pressed against her own, his soft breath warm on her neck, and nothing could have felt more natural. He had an arm wrapped around her waist protectively, as though she might fall apart if he let her go.

Maybe she would.

Nothing overtly sexual had happened when they'd come home of course, it never did. But with some luck, maybe that would change. They'd stumbled blearily into her apartment, only stopping to shed their clothes (Sara with a little help from Grissom) before crawling into the cool, crisp sheets. Smiling to herself at how many times she'd imagined this scenario in her head, she decided to enjoy the moment while she could.

She rolled over, not an easy task between the sling and Grissom's tight embrace, and turned to face him. Letting out a sleepy, contented whimper, she buried her face in his neck, her head tucked neatly underneath his chin. The scent of his Old Spice aftershave met her as her arm snaked around his back, her fingertips lightly grazing the waistband of his boxers. Her father had worn Old Spice, and she wasn't sure if she liked the association or not. She felt Grissom stirring under her touch and willed him to stay asleep; to let the moment last a little longer, just a little longer.

But alas all good things must come to an end. She felt his grip on her loosen as he slowly took his arm from around her body. He did it gently, whether it was so he didn't wake her, or because he didn't want her to know he'd been holding her, she didn't know. She rolled away from him and onto her back, stretching her arms above her head.

He sat up a little, leaning back against the pillows, looking down at her. "Good morning."

She smiled. She always thought it so strange that they associated darkness and moonlight with the morning. It used to depress her that the sun made her sleepy, but she had grown to like the fact that her neighbors thought of her as mysterious, a "mistress of the night."

"Good morning," she answered, sitting up. She had become painfully aware of the fact that she was in only a thin white tank top and panties, and was enjoying watching him struggle to find an appropriate place to look.

Seeing as how they were together in bed, she found it amusing that he hadn't forgone such formalities. She didn't mind if he looked, anyway. Sweeping back the wild curls that had fallen into her eyes, she tucked them behind an ear and leaned to the bedside table, grabbing his glasses. She looked at them for a moment before turning back to him and holding out her hand in offering. He reached out to take them, but before he could she closed her long fingers around the spectacles and slowly drew them back, holding them to her chest.

He looked up at her in surprise, and saw a strange glint in her eyes. "Sara?"

Without breaking eye contact with him, she took the glasses and put them on. "What are you doing?" he asked, trying to disguise the fact that this was the single sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. Here he was in bed with the slender, long-limbed Sara Sidle; her mess of soft curls loose around her injured shoulders, her sweet, healing face soft in the moonlight, looking back at him from behind his wire rimmed glasses. Her eyes were full of lust, uncertainty, and strangely, disappointment.

"What's wrong?"

"Well," she said, pushing the glasses up onto her head, "I thought that maybe if I saw things the way you see them, I might start to understand."

He knew he'd regret asking, but he couldn't help himself, "Understand what?"

"You," she replied simply. She looked at him with her arms crossed, waiting. He didn't know what to say. He knew he hadn't treated her the way he should have. And he also knew that she was aware of his reasoning: in his mind he had been too scared to risk everything that he'd worked for for so long. And not only that, but to risk it for something as fragile and complicated as a human relationship. But what she didn't know was how many times he'd kicked himself for making that mistake. Because he knew now that that's what it had been: a mistake.

"What do you think?" she asked, smiling a sad smile, "maybe if I wear them in front of the mirror I'll know what you really think of me." She started to laugh, but stopped as he reached out to her, putting a hand on her mouth. She looked up at him in surprise.

"Don't," he said quietly, "don't laugh about things like that. I know it's how you deal with things Sara, but…don't."

"I'm sorry," she said though his fingers, eyes wide. She sounded shocked. Were those tears in her eyes?

"You want to know what I really think of you?" he asked, not taking his hand off her mouth. She nodded, and he could feel her body tense, as though she were bracing herself.

He sat there staring into those rich brown eyes, willing his brain to put it all into intelligible words. But how do you measure love? How do you weigh respect, or catalogue trust? Things like that can't be filed, and they can't be categorized. You can't process matters of the heart, and therefore Gilbert Grissom couldn't form the feelings he had for her into words. He just didn't know how.

Like always, he didn't know how.

His cell phone began to ring, the chirruping drilling through the moment like a jackhammer. She looked at him, voice still smothered, and pleaded with her eyes for him to ignore it, to talk to her, to touch her. He knew that he was aching to do all of those things, so for once; he did.

The ringing stopped, and grateful tears swept down her face, rolling, hot, across his knuckles. She reached up and pulled his hand away from her mouth, dropping it gently in her lap. "Grissom," she whispered, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and slowly pulling him closer. "Tell me. Please," she begged. Their faces were inches apart. "Please, I need to hear."

"Do you really want to know?" he asked, his voice husky in the dark room.

"Yes," she breathed, her grip on his shirt tightening.

"Here's what I think." He reached out and slid his fingers into her hair, careful not to disturb the stitches that hid there, and pulled her face to his; pressing their lips together in a searing kiss. He felt her melt into him, her arm coming up to run her slender fingers through his hair. Both of their bodies were on fire as she pulled him down onto the pillows, their kisses more passionate and meaningful than anything he could have said to her. Actions speak louder than words, after all. She wrapped her legs tightly around his body, cinching him against her as he pushed his hands up underneath her shirt. He could feel her heart racing against his chest as he kissed along her jaw line, working his way down to her neck.

She whispered his name in the darkness, her hot breath tickling his ear as she started to pull off his t-shirt, running her cool hands across his bare skin. Her hands traced slowly, deliberately, across his back. Her fingers were lazily drifting downwards, sliding underneath the waistband of his boxers as the phone rang again. Hers this time.

Grissom drew back from her, both of them breathing heavily as he looked down at her, seeing what she wanted to do. Her hair was splayed, wild and dark against the white pillow, her lips full and eyes brimming with lust. Her chest was heaving with excitement, but they both knew that they were needed at the lab.

Her face full of regret, she unwrapped her legs from around his waist and leaned over to the night table, grabbing her phone from its charger. She flipped it open and lay back down with him still mostly on top of her, looking at him as she said, "Sidle." He could hear the tinny sound of Catherine's voice through the phone, and watched Sara listening. "I'll be right there," she sighed. "Give me twenty minutes." She closed the phone and tossed it beside her, reaching up and pulling him down onto her. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, giving him a squeeze, and said, "Will you finish telling me what you think of me later?"

He disentangled himself from her, sitting up. "Grissom?" Her face was full of concern.

He reached down and slid one arm behind her back, the other under her legs, and pulled her into his lap, cradling her like a child. "Of course I will," he answered softly.

She laid her head down onto his chest, settling against him as he rubbed her back. "You promise?"

"I Promise," he answered. He sealed it with a kiss.

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After showers (separate showers, they needed to cool off) Grissom and Sara made it to the lab after a silent, and sexually tense car ride. Sara's skin was still practically humming with unfulfilled lust, and she found it so hard to be in such a close proximity to Grissom and not be able to touch him. As they stepped out of the car and began to walk towards the lab, it was all she could do not to grab him arm, throw their kits down on the wet pavement of the parking lot, and pin him up against the Tahoe. Little did she know he was thinking the exact same thing.

The general chatter of the lab was a nice distraction from their dirty thoughts, and with one last wistful glance at each other, the two went their separate ways, Sara to the locker room, and Grissom to his office. Sara walked in to the locker room and found Joslyn sitting exactly where she had left her. The memories of Sara's abrupt departure came flooding back, as did a pang of guilt. "Hey," she started lamely.

Joslyn glanced up and gave her a frosty, "Hello."

"Did you stay at Catherine's last night?" She had never been good at apologies.

"No, I'm just going to stay with Greg. It's easier than moving from house to house. Although I think the whole thing's a bit unnecessary. Obviously you have no new injuries, so maybe Mr. X is on vacation."

"Listen Jos, I'm sorry for snapping at you like that. I was tired, and frustrated, and…a bitch. I really didn't mean to take it out on you though." She put an arm around the smaller woman's shoulders, leaning her head in until their foreheads touched. "Still mad at me?"

Joslyn smiled, "I was never mad. I was just as tired and pissed off as you were. What I _am_ mad about is that you've been here for all of thirty seconds and you still haven't told me what happened with Grissom last night.

Sara's jaw dropped, her eyes wide. "How did you know?" she hissed, looking behind her, making sure they weren't overheard.

Joslyn gave an evil laugh, green eyes sparkling. "I didn't, but I do now, thanks. I saw him heading for the parking lot and I figured he was going after you. I was just going to ask if he talked to you, but judging by your reaction you two did a lot more than that."

Sara groaned, closing her eyes and putting her head between her knees.

"Hey," said Jos softly, the teasing tone gone from her voice. She put a hand on Sara's back, "hey it's nothing to be ashamed of. And you know your secret's safe with me. " She leaned her head down closer to Sara's face and whispered, "I'm really happy for you Sara."

Sara looked up and met her steady gaze. "What, you're not going to make fun of me?"

Joslyn exhaled the word "no" and waved a hand as she shook her head, "I never tease when it comes to matters of the heart. That's just cruel. _But _that's not to say that details wouldn't be appreciated."

Sara smiled. She was actually happy to know she had someone she could trust to talk to about the situation. It frightened her to think about it, but her relationship with Grissom was in limbo. But before she could relate even the first scrumptious kiss, Greg slid into the room. Joslyn kicked Sara lightly so she wouldn't say anything she may not have wanted Greg to overhear, and mouthed the word "later." Sara nodded conspiratorially. Greg looked from one to the other suspiciously.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing," they both answered at once.

"What, you don't trust me?" He actually sounded offended.

Joslyn sighed and rolled her eyes, "Alright Greg, if you must know, I was asking Sara if she had a tampon I could have."

The color drained from Greg's face, and Sara had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"Oh, sorry," he said dismissively, trying to act un-phased. "Anyway, Grissom wants to see you two in his office ASAP."

"What about?" asked Joslyn.

He shrugged. "I have no idea."

The two exchanged a glance and stood, heading to Grissom's domain.

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The chilly blue light of Grissom's office bathed their faces as they entered. Sara gave her usual greeting to the fetal pig, giving his glass jar a little "plink" with her fingernail as she passed. Grissom rolled his eyes and gestured for them to sit down. They each took a seat across from him, their faces cast in shadow.

"What's up?" asked Sara. "Any news?" She was surprised at how normal she sounded, and was immediately proud of herself for not stuttering.

"Well Marjorie Hudson, the soup kitchen manager is still MIA. Brass is working on it. I'm thinking we should get her son Charlie Pierce back in here for another interview."

"To what end?" asked Joslyn, her face all angles in the dim light. "He didn't co-operate last time, and he made it abundantly clear that he has no intention of helping us. Like he said, we can't protect him. If I were him I probably wouldn't talk either."

"Yes," granted Grissom, "but remember that last time we were going in blind, we had nothing to work with. Now that we have new information, we might be able to use it to our advantage. And don't forget that he did give us Les Enfants. If he didn't want to help us, why would he get us to go there and learn about his past? He was obviously trying to tell us something. The question is what."

"Well let's ask him, shall we?" answered Sara.

"Where is he now?" Joslyn asked.

"He's still awaiting trial for Sara's attack, he's in county lock-up. Brass is bringing him in now."

The silence settled over them as the thoughts of the interrogation to come weighed on their minds.

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Charlie Pierce sat with his attorney in the steel and concrete interrogation room, the reflections of Grissom, Sara, and Joslyn hovering in front of him like ghosts as they watched him through the glass. He had definitely improved in appearance since the last time they'd seen him; his hair, once wild and snarled, had been shaved nearly to the scalp. He had been scrubbed clean, had his nails cut, and his face no longer looked gaunt with malnutrition. His dark eyes still sparkled with intelligence and something else that you just couldn't put your finger on. Had it not been for the orange prison jumper he was wearing, he might have looked like he was a lawyer representing his client, rather than the reverse.

He looked up as the three entered the room with Brass, and stared as Sara sat down across from him. "You're looking better since the last time I saw you," he said gruffly, noting that the swelling on Sara's face had gone down considerably; the bruises just beginning to fade.

" I could say the same about you," she answered.

"I take it you went to Les Enfants," he said, leaning his elbows on the table.

"We did," spoke Joslyn from where she stood behind Sara, "It appears you have a rather darker past than we suspected."

Pierce narrowed his eyes, "What's that jerk Damien been telling you?"

Joslyn tucked a stray hair behind her ear, "Well, he says you used to own Les Enfants. But then you got hooked on drugs and he tossed you out on your tin."

"That son of a bitch!" Pierce erupted in fury, jumping to his feet. Joslyn took a step back with her arms over her face as the officer in the room slammed Pierce back into his seat by his shoulders. Everyone watched in silence as Pierce's attorney, a man in a pale gray suit who looked like he was sincerely regretting taking Pierce as a client, attempted to subdue the seething criminal. After a time, Charlie's breathing mellowed, and Sara deemed it safe to try and ask him some more questions.

"Okay, so it would appear that Damien Price tells a different story than you do. Would you care to tell us your side?"

Charlie's eyes were unseeing; he was clearly weighing his options. After a time, he sat up in his chair and gave a small nod. "Yeah alright." Grissom, taking a seat beside Sara, got out his notepad, pen poised. "I can tell you right now, I'm not on drugs, and never was. It was Damien who was the drug lord. I found out he was using Les Enfants as a base to sell coke, getting people to do deals in his back room. When I confronted him on it, he kicked me out of our partnership. He said if I went to the police he'd have me killed."

"And you believed him?" asked Sara, her eyes glued to his.

" 'Course I believed him, he's been making a fortune over there. He's got enough money to have every person in this room and their mother taken out, and never have to bat an eyelid."

"So then what happened?" asked Joslyn, having recovered from Pierce's outburst enough to rejoin the conversation.

"I lost everything," snarled Pierce, balling his hands into tight fists, knuckles whitening.

"I hadn't saved much while I was running the club, there had never been any need to. And Damien had made sure I'd never work again in this town, at least not in the nightclub industry. So once my rent money ran out I ended up on the streets."

"Couldn't you have gone to a relative?" questioned Sara, frowning.

"My mother's my only living relation, and she believed I was a drug addict. Since she's so caught up in her bible-thumping group, she didn't think it would look good to have me staying with her. Bad image and all that," he finished, the bitterness dripping off every word.

"And when was the last time you spoke to your mother?" asked Joslyn, crossing her arms.

"That was in 2000. She tried to contact me after that but I told her to go to Hell. I hear she tried filing a missing person's report or some shit."

"And you ignored her attempts to talk to you?" asked Joslyn, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"Yeah I ignored her, has your mother ever just abandoned you?" he spat sarcastically. Sara winced.

"Yes she has," answered Joslyn quietly, her face and voice carefully neutral.

Pierce raised his eyebrows a fraction. He obviously wasn't expecting that answer, but that didn't stop him from saying, "Well then, what the Hell would you do if after all that she decides she wants to see you again?"

This time Joslyn couldn't keep the emotion out of her voice as she tactfully turned the conversation's focus away from herself, "So were you and your mother close before all this happened?"

Pierce was becoming tense again, "Why are you all so suddenly interested in my mother?"

"Hey," said Brass, putting his hands up in mock defense, "what's with the hostility cousin? We're just trying to get to know you." Charlie just glared at him and said nothing.

"Alright," said Sara, leaning forward, "here's the deal. We know your mother is Marjorie Hudson, the director of Saint Mary's soup kitchen." Pierce's face became as white as Sara's sheets. "We also know that you _have_ spoken to her since 2000, because we know that she was the one who ordered you to attack me." Grissom and Joslyn did a good job at hiding their surprise. They had no proof of that at all, but they were interested to see if Pierce would call her bluff.

There was a light layer of sweat visible on Charlie's upper lip and forehead, and his breathing was becoming erratic. "You can't prove that," he choked.

"How do you know?" whispered Sara, raising an eyebrow. Pierce was now shifting in his seat like a child. Sara ran a hand through her hair nonchalantly, "We also believe that she is in hiding, as we can now tie her to Trinity's murder."

The guard behind Pierce took a step forward, ready, as Pierce shouted, "She didn't kill anyone! She would never do that!"

"Then why did we find her blood at the scene?" asked Sara calmly.

"It was him! If she's involved at all, then he made her do it!"

"Who made her do it?" hissed Joslyn, leaning forward with her hands on the table, urging him on.

"THE SENATOR!" bellowed Pierce, slamming his fists down on the table.

Joslyn's face broke into a satisfied grin, as the horror of what he'd just said washed over Charlie Pierce's features. He tore at his hair as his face twisted into a grimace. He looked as though he might cry.

"It's just as well that I told you that," he said in submission, "if she really is missing I'm a dead man either way,"

"What do you mean?" asked Sara.

"If you can't find her, then it's not because she's in hiding. Wescott killed her. And I'm next."

"Why would he do that?" she prompted.

"Look," sighed Pierce, "You guys have no idea what you're getting yourselves involved in. Once you hear the truth you'll probably wish you never knew."

"Try me," said Sara, leaning forward on an elbow.

"The Hands of Mercy, the charity group my mother worked for, isn't really a charity group at all."

"Then what is it?"

Pierce scrubbed his face with his hand. "It's the most elaborate drug ring ever conceived. And Les Enfants was its hub. Most of the people working for the charity, people like my mother, have no idea what it's really about. Mercy does do a lot of great charity work. But its main purpose, and all of its funding, is drug money."

"So how does it work?" asked Grissom, intrigued.

"Well to give you the very simple version, Wescott and two other prominent society figures created it back in the early eighties, before they had made names for themselves. They would use the charity as a way to smuggle drugs across borders, saying they were carrying shipments of food and blankets for shelters. After a while, they really did start to open up shelters here and there as a front in case people started asking too many questions. The drug ring, and the charity, grew over time, gaining popularity with the churches."

"So how does your mother tie in to all of this?" Grissom asked, writing furiously in his notepad.

"Well at the time that I got kicked out of Les Enfants I still had no idea that it was affiliated with the Hands of Mercy. After I had been on the streets for a few years, Mercy opened up the soup kitchen over by the Strato. My mom, upright citizen that she is, became the manager, and when she recognized me and saw what I'd become she begged the Senator to help me out, give me a job. So he did."

"So what was the job?" asked Joslyn, sliding onto the table.

"He assigned me the job of trailing his daughter Trinity. Apparently she was a dyke, and he wanted to make sure no one found out about it. He had me keep an eye on her, make sure she was keeping up her end of the bargain they had together: she kept her sexuality in the closet, and he didn't have her bumped off."

"But she wasn't keeping her end of the bargain, was she?" asked Joslyn.

"Nope. Her and her girlfriend Gloria would hit Les Enfants, an infamous gay club, about twice a week. Eventually I tried to warn her, told her to watch her back, but she wouldn't listen to me."

"That was when you started to yell at her at Les Enfants," stated Sara.

Pierce nodded, "She just thought I was a crazy homeless man, though. Anyway, I knew it was only a matter of time before Wescott found out I'd tried to warn her, so I went to my mother to tell her I was getting out of Vegas. I didn't get a chance to tell her though, because that was the day you three came in to investigate.

She told me to hang out in the office until she got rid of you, but then you, Sidle, decided to start snooping around. I was behind the door when you came in, and I saw that you were about to find that envelope."

"The wedding invitation," Sara confirmed, her mind flashing back to the pink envelope on the ground.

Pierce nodded. "What you may not have gotten the chance to notice was that it was splattered with blood. I don't know whose, but I knew that if anything found at that soup kitchen later incriminated the Senator, it would be my mother's life on the line. So…I panicked and hit you with the frying pan the chef had put in the office."

"And then you took the envelope and ran out the fire exit, leaving Sara to die," finished Grissom gravely.

"Look," Pierce spoke to Sara, "I really didn't mean to hurt you so bad. I was just worried about my mother. I wasn't thinking." He looked at her as though to say, "Forgive me?"

Sara pretended not to notice his half-hearted apology. "Where's the envelope now?"

Pierced leaned back in his seat, "What difference does that make?"

"Well," started Joslyn, her voice bursting with sarcasm, "it may be the only piece of evidence tying the Senator to the murder of his daughter, but other than that it makes no difference at all."

He glared at her, "You really think you can peg any of this on the Senator? The man's smart enough to fund his entire campaign with drug money and not get caught, do you honestly believe you can convict him of anything and make it stick?"

"Probably not the drug ring," admitted Grissom, removing his glasses, "but that envelope might have trace evidence on it that even a politician won't be able to talk his way around. So where is it?"

"It's in my pack, under a bridge near the tracks on the edge of town. I was planning on trying to use it to blackmail the Senator into leaving my mother and me alone. The only trouble was I had to figure out what it was all about first."

Sara rested her chin in her hand, "And what made you think that it had anything to do with the Senator at all?"

Pierce shrugged, "It was just lying on my mother's desk, covered in blood, I couldn't not read it. And when I saw it was an invitation to his daughter's gay wedding, I knew the blood had to be from his "RSVP". There's no way he would have let it happen. He always said he'd kill her before he let her ruin his career."

"Take us to it," said Sara, her entire body on overload. Pierce had just dropped a bombshell on them, and it was going to be a while before her brain could sort it all out. She didn't underestimate how brave Pierce was being by finally coming clean. She knew he really believed he would die for what he had told them, and maybe he would. But not if she could help it.

Everyone stood, letting the officer lead Pierce out of the room and get him ready for transportation to wherever the Hell it was he'd left that envelope. Grissom, Sara, Joslyn, and Brass eyed each other wearily as they thought about how the scope of this case had just widened exponentially.

Grissom left to bring around the Tahoe, and Brass went to accompany Pierce, leaving Sara and Joslyn sitting in an overwhelmed silence. Both were grateful as Greg walked in, his funky spirit immediately breaking the tension.

"Hey I heard Pierce just spilled the beans on the Senator, congratulations." They both gave him weak smiles. "So what was with the change of heart, why'd he just give it all up?"

"Well," sighed Sara, "I think he believes he's a dead man either way. And if you were about to go down, wouldn't you want to take the rest of them down with you?"

"Good point," Greg admitted. "Oh and Joslyn, I talked to Judy at the front desk and she said she had something for you," he said, reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants.

"What?" asked Joslyn, eyeing him with curiosity.

Greg pulled out two tampons and handed them to her. "And she says anytime you need one, all you have to do is ask."

Joslyn fought hard to keep her face serious as she said, "Thanks Greg. I really owe you one."

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	10. No goodbyes

_Disclaimer: not mine, would you give it a rest already?_

_A/N: okay so I've had strep throat, (worst thing ever), so let's blame, yet again, any mistakes I made on that, alright darlings? Now I know the second half of the last chapter was on the drier side, what with all the loose ends needing to be tied up, so hopefully this one will make up for it. Please review; you know it makes me happy. All my love,_

_Solomynne_

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_Be careful what you wish for._

Sara and Joslyn stood in the crime lab parking lot; waiting for the small contingent of people it was going to take to securely transport Charlie Pierce to where he'd hidden the key piece of evidence. It was a warm night, and the stars twinkled down at them merrily from their inky canopy, wishing them luck. Joslyn had been very quiet since the heavy interview with Charlie, and Sara could tell her young partner was deep in thought. She watched as Joslyn stared into the night sky, face tilted upward as she absent-mindedly chewed her bottom lip.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Sara ventured to break her friend's train of thought, "Hey. Are you okay?"

Joslyn snapped back to reality, turning to look at Sara in the darkness. "Yeah, I'm fine," she smiled.

The night wind played with Sara's curls as she worked up the courage to ask, "Are you thinking about what Charlie said to you? About your mother?"

Joslyn turned her attention back to the heavens before answering softly. "Yes."

Sara waited, but Joslyn didn't elaborate. She knew that if ever she should tell Joslyn about her own mother, it was now. Looking at the full moon above them, Sara took a deep breath and said slowly, "You know Joslyn, I know what it's like." Joslyn still refused to look at her, which Sara was grateful for as it made it easier for her to say what needed to be said. "Growing up…my dad was abusive. He and my mother were constantly getting into huge battles with each other. I can't tell you how many times I hid in my closet and wished for it all to end. Prayed for it to just be over." Sara looked to see that Joslyn was staring at her, her almond eyes brimming with tears. _Now or never._ "And then one day…my wish came true. My mother snapped, she couldn't take it anymore. After she killed him," Joslyn put a hand to her mouth, "I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I barely saw my mother over the next few years. So like I said, I know what it's like to feel abandoned. Just remember, your mother has no idea what she gave up when she left you. And I'm sure you aren't the reason for her leaving." Joslyn just continued to stare at her with a pained expression on her face.

Sara felt horrible and wonderful at the same time. Horrible for having to relive those moments, and wonderful for finally having found someone who could understand, rather than just sympathize. Sara felt so relieved and emotional she thought she might burst into tears. "Say something Jos."

A single tear traced its way down Joslyn's face, glistening like the stars that hung over them, that watched over them.

She reached out and took Sara's hand in her own. "I'm so sorry," she said in her unmistakable voice, "I'm so sorry that such awful things happened to you. Because I can tell you right now you're the last person to deserve it." She brushed away Sara's tears gently with her thumb. "And I'm so honored that you trust me enough to share that with me." Sara pulled her into a tight hug, resting her cheek on top of Joslyn's head.

A cheerful honking brought them quickly out of the moment, each woman hastily wiping her eyes as they squinted in the bright headlights of Grissom's Tahoe. "You two ready?" he called out the window. Each nodded as they hoisted their kits off the ground and hopped in, Greg moving over in the back to make room for Joslyn. They followed behind Brass' car as Charlie directed Brass and his officers away from the strip. Thirty minutes later, with the casino lights far behind them, they found themselves crossing the train tracks at the edge of town. Brass radioed to tell them it wasn't long now, and sure enough five minutes later they saw his red break lights glowing in the darkness like a pair of demonic eyes.

Grissom stopped the car and the four of them jumped out, stretching as they took a look at their surroundings. It looked like they were in the middle of nowhere, which wasn't hard to get to considering they lived in the desert. The lights of The Strip could be seen twinkling on the horizon like distant stars. It was hard to tell in the inky night, without the neon lights of civilization to brighten the way, but to Sara it looked like they were at an old, unused train station. The decaying platform, (the ticket booth and waiting area having long ago been reduced to rubble), was all that was left. It teetered precariously at the edge of a steep ridge, and part of an old bridge led away from the platform, sloping down to become level with the ground. She could only guess that this was once a regular stop for the old steam engines that used to come around during the mining days; the trains having disappeared along with the gold.

"Wow," breathed Greg, looking up in awe, "the stars are so bright out here!"

Grissom gazed up appreciatively, the stars reflecting off his glasses. "Yeah, it's easier to see them away from town. Normally the lights from the city would block them out, but here in the desert, there's nothing to drown out their light." Sara, marveling at the celestial beauty before her, hardly noticed as she reached out a hand and slipped it into Grissom's, curling her long fingers tightly around his. He glanced over at her, trying to decide what was more beautiful, the spectacle before him, or her sweet face, when Brass' voice cut through the darkness.

"Hey, you guys coming, or what?" The four of them tore their eyes from the sky and turned to follow as Charlie determinedly made his way down the ridge. There were a few slips and stumbles on the way down, especially for Sara who was doing it one-handed, but with a little help from each other they all made it down in one piece. The bridge now loomed some 15 feet above their heads, and each of them eyed its shoddy construction as Charlie pointed to an old, broken down truck that sat directly beneath it. It appeared that he'd been using the car as a makeshift shelter, old blankets balled up in the truck's cab.

"How the Hell do you even get out here?" Brass asked Charlie as they neared the truck, "It's too far to walk."

Charlie shrugged, his orange jumpsuit standing out even in the darkness. "I hitch a ride most of the way from tourists on their way out of town. I like it out here, it's quiet. I never have to worry about other street people being on my turf. You'd be surprised how territorial they can get. Besides," he gestured to an old coal cart that was brimming with dirty water, "I've got pretty much everything I need out here. Drinking water, a place to sleep…" They'd reached the old truck by this point, Charlie's filthy knapsack visible in the driver's seat.

Charlie went to open the car door but Brass put a hand on his wrist. "Hold it right there cousin, we'll take it from here. Grissom?" he called over his shoulder.

"I got it," said Sara, snapping on her gloves. She stepped forward, and with some difficulty, wrenched open the rusty driver's side door. She had leaned in for the bag and grasped a dirt-encrusted shoulder strap, when she felt something cold being pressed against her temple.

"Drop it," came a deep voice from the backseat.

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Sara's entire body was rigid, seized with fear. Her tongue had gone numb, palms sweaty.

"I said drop it," the cold voice repeated, the gun pressed harder into her temple. Sara complied, dropping the bag as she kneeled half in, half out of the car. "Get in and shut the door behind you," the voice ordered. Sara quickly slid into the truck, pulling the heavy door shut after her. She dared to steal a glance into the backseat, able only to discern the outline of a formidable figure in the darkness; a shadow of a large man who had his gun trained directly between her eyes. She heard a faint whimpering and looked over, noticing for the first time that there was someone else in the back. It took her a moment to realize that it was Marjorie Hudson, Charlie's mother. She was bound and gagged, huddled in the seat.

Sara's mind was reeling. What should she do? Eventually someone was going to come in after her, and what then? "Look," she said, voice shaking, the mildewy odor of the decaying car upholstery filling her nose, "there is an entire squad car of policemen sitting outside. Just what do you think you're going to get away with?"

The man barked a cruel laugh, making Sara jump. "You think I'm here alone?" Sara's stomach dropped at the words, as she heard the sound of car doors opening, and several pairs of feet crunching across the dry desert floor.

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Outside, the others were starting to wonder what Sara was up to when the sound of approaching footsteps turned their attention behind them. In the darkness they hadn't even noticed the black SUV parked just meters away. Now, as four men in dark suits, guns out, closed in on them, Grissom found himself wondering how they could've missed it. They all turned back as the shriek of metal on metal tore through the night. The door to the truck was opening, and a very pitiful looking Marjorie Hudson was tumbling out. Mouth gagged and hands tied behind her back, she fell to the ground in a very ungraceful heap. She groaned, and after a moment managed to struggle into a subdued kneeling position.

"Mom!" called Charlie, taking a step towards her. The sounds of a gun's hammer being cocked stopped him dead in his tracks. Greg took Joslyn by the elbow and pulled her behind him, taking her out of the line of fire. None of the team was quite sure where to look as they stood, frozen, with a group of thugs on one side and a very tense scene unfolding on the other. Sara could now be seen being forced out of the truck at gunpoint, a large man stepping out of the backseat, grabbing her by the hair.

Brass, one hand training his gun on Sara's assailant, had to use all his strength to keep Grissom from shooting her captor and getting them all killed. Joslyn couldn't bear to see the terrified expression on Sara's face, so she buried her own into Greg's back, squeezing her eyes shut and praying for it to all be over.

"Alright, nobody move!" yelled Brass. He knew the two officers he'd brought along were staring at him, waiting for his signal. For a moment, time stopped as each side waited to see what the other would do. No one moved, no one breathed, until in a heartbeat, all Hell broke loose. One of what they could only assume were the Senator's lackeys fired a warning shot at Brass' officers. After that it was every man for himself as both sides opened fire, Brass yelling into his radio for backup.

Greg grabbed Joslyn and pulled her down to the desert floor, pinning her underneath him as the bullets cracked overhead. Brass crouched down and pulled Grissom with him, desperately looking for something to use as cover. He spotted what looked like parts of a sliding door that belonged on a train car leaning up against a rock, and he dove behind it, pulling Grissom with him as the bullets whizzed past.

Joslyn, face pressed into the sand, looked up from her breathless position under Greg's body, his hand covering her head protectively. She could see Sara was still being held hostage, and as she watched helplessly Sara turned and they made eye contact. As their eyes locked each knew what they had to do. Sara gave a barely perceptible nod, and after waiting until her captor was distracted, she tossed the backpack containing the Holy Grail of evidence as close as she could get it to Joslyn. Joslyn, not waiting to see what the gunman would do to Sara for it, rolled out from under Greg, who yelled after her as she scrambled to retrieve the backpack. She half ran, half crawled, stumbling and staggering through the air full of bullets. "I'm sorry!" she called to Greg as she took off into the night.

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She ran as fast and as far as she could, without really knowing where she was headed. In the end it didn't really matter, they were in the open desert, so there weren't many places for her to go. All she knew was she had to get as far away from the gunfire as possible, so she could try to find somewhere to stash the knapsack. Unfortunately, her mad dash across the battlefield had caught the attention of one of the Senator's men, and she could hear the bullets whistling past her as she ran, some coming so close the shots kicked up the sand at her heels. After about six or seven shots, the gunman gave up on trying to shoot her, but the pursuit was still on. Joslyn could hear heavy footsteps gaining ground on her with every passing second until, in an instant, she felt a fist strike her in the back of the neck, taking her down hard.

She tumbled, head over feet, before landing flat on her back, looking up to see a large silhouette hovering over her. Dazed, she could do nothing as the man wrenched the precious backpack out of her grip. She rolled onto her side and struggled to get to her feet, but she was knocked down again, a heavy boot kicking her onto her stomach and coming to rest on her back. Pinned to the ground, she struggled, squirming under the weight of his foot on her back, but it was no use. After she'd given up, he lifted his foot from her and took hold of her neck with a meaty hand, dragging her into a standing position. He forced her to walk a few feet further into the desert, stopping them in front of a coal cart like the one Charlie Pierce used to hold his drinking water.

This one was also full to the brim with water, although water really wasn't the right word for it. It looked like liquid rust. Joslyn felt his grip on her neck tighten as he looped his fingers through her hair, using it to tilt her face back until their eyes met.

"No one gets away from me," he growled, giving her head a vigorous shake. "No one."

"Screw you," she spat at him defiantly, bracing herself for the blow she knew was coming.

But instead of being hit, she felt herself being lifted off the ground like a rag doll, and tossed one-handed into the deep cart. The filthy, metallic-tasting water burned her eyes and nose as she sputtered, splashing and flailing until she managed to hook an arm over the rim of the cart. She clung to the edge, shivering, her hair plastered to her head in thick ropes. Blinded by the fragments of rust in her eyes, she could only hear a cold laugh coming nearer as she felt strong arms taking her by the shoulders and shoving her back into the water.

She screamed as her head plunged into the awful liquid, her mouth and nose filling with the rancid water. She felt his hand on her head, holding her under as she clawed at his arms, kicking and flailing as hard as she could. Her lungs were on fire, and all she could think of was that she was dying to inhale, inhale, take a breath, just one breath.

She fought the urge as long as she could until finally, she gave in and drew in a heavy mouthful of the rusty water. It burned her insides like fire as it soared down her throat, filling her lungs. Never before had she felt this kind of frenzied panic. She clawed furiously at the arms that held her underwater, raking her nails across the thick wrists. She heard a muffled cry from above the surface as her long nails dug deep into his flesh, but his grip didn't even loosen a fraction.

Joslyn felt herself growing weaker, her mind becoming fuzzy as every cell within her screamed for oxygen. At last she stopped thrashing against him, letting her tired body go limp as she sank to the cart's grimy bottom. She was barely conscious of the muted gunshot she heard screaming above the surface of the water. She fought hard to stay awake as she felt strong arms latching onto her shirt collar, hoisting her to safety.

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Greg scooped her lifeless body out of the coal cart and hastily placed her, dripping, on the desert floor, rolling her onto her side. With a few strategic smacks to the back, he watched as Joslyn's body emptied itself of the water within. Coughing and retching, the rusted water poured out of her in what seemed like buckets, making a river in the sand. When there was nothing left inside her lungs, she rolled onto her back in exhaustion, drawing huge gulps of air.

Greg couldn't help himself from flashing back to the heart-stopping moment when he'd seen the man holding her underwater. Even at a distance he'd been able to see her arms and legs thrashing wildly, frothing the water in a desperate attempt for freedom.

He put a hand on her forehead and pushed aside the wet strands of hair that clung to her face. She flinched at his touch and it was then that he realized she couldn't see. Her eyes were covered in a rust colored film, blurring her vision. "It's okay Jos, it's just me, it's Greg. Don't worry we're going to get you out of here, okay?"

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention away from her as he saw Sara flying towards them at top speed. Grissom and Brass were hot on her heels, but neither were a match for her long legs. Hair flying, and sling flapping like the wing of an injured bird, Sara collapsed to her knees beside them, cupping a hand behind Joslyn's neck.

"Is she okay?" she panted. "Was she hit?"

"No," Greg assured her, "No she managed to dodge the bullets, but the bastard knocked her down and tried to drown her in that old coal cart." Greg gestured to the semi-conscious heap of a man that lay a few feet away.

"So what happened?"

"He must have tossed his gun when he was running after her. I grabbed it and took care of him, and then I pulled her out of there."

Sara's eyes whipped to his face, voice dropping, "You shot him?"

"In the shoulder, he'll be fine!" defended Greg. "What the Hell was I supposed to do Sara he was trying to kill her! He very nearly _did_ kill her."

Sara turned her attention back to Joslyn, whose breathing had become harsh, and ragged.

She and Greg exchanged dark looks. Greg spoke quickly, "I think there's silt from the water caught in her lungs. It's in her eyes too, look." He gestured to the rusty flecks visible in the whites of Joslyn's eyes, which were rolling sporadically back in her head.

Sara put an ear to her friend's chest, listening to her breathing. Greg was right, she was wheezing, she wasn't getting enough oxygen. "We've got to get her to a hospital," she called to Brass and Grissom, who were just closing in on them.

"Is it safe to go back?" asked Greg. When he'd left, the gunfire had still been going strong.

Sara nodded, eyes still fixed on Joslyn who was slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Back-up got here just in the nick of time. One of Brass' guys was hit in the chest but he was wearing Kevlar, and Grissom was grazed in the arm, but nothing too serious." Greg looked up and saw a dark stain on Grissom's shirtsleeve.

Brass looked down at them, "Ambulance will be here any minute, but they're going to have a Hell of a time getting gurneys down that ridge."

"Well I won't have any problems carrying Joslyn back, but I don't know what we're going to do with _him_," said Greg, jerking a thumb in the direction of Joslyn's would-be killer.

"We could dump out the coal cart and push him back in it," said Sara.

"Works for me," agreed Grissom, motioning for Brass to help him turn over the cart. With minimal effort they managed to tip it, the water rushing out and off into the desert sand, pooling like an oasis. The two of them then proceeded to hoist the man unceremoniously into the cart, where he landed with a hollow thud. "Let's start getting back," finished Grissom, wincing as he used his injured arm to push the coal cart across the sand.

Greg leaned down and picked up Joslyn, lifting her with ease.

She was soaked to the bone, her wet clothes clinging to her like Saran Wrap. He could feel her shivering against him as they began to walk back to the cars. "It's okay, Jos, almost there," he assured her. They could hear the sirens whining in the distance, the red lights visible on the horizon.

Everyone made sure to give the "battlefield" a wide berth, knowing the rest of the team would probably be there soon to start collecting evidence. It would be up to them to prove the events of the evening to I.A., making sure that no one within the department was laid to blame for the shootout. The foursome of men in suits were being corralled into the squad cars that had been brought by back-up, each of them glaring at the CSIs that walked past.

As for Greg, Grissom was slightly worried that I.A. may suspend him. After all, not only did he shoot a civilian, he wasn't licensed to be carrying a gun. But that wasn't important right now, what was important was that he got all of his guys the Hell out of there while they were still alive. He was becoming more and more concerned about Joslyn's condition. She had stopped shivering, and was now hanging; limp, in Greg's arms. He was afraid she might have some kind of heavy metal poisoning.

The two ambulances pulled up at the top of the ridge and four paramedics jumped out, climbing down to help everyone get back up onto the platform. Sara was grateful to see that Hank was not among them this time.

Marjorie Hudson, who was being held along with her son Charlie, was loaded into one ambulance along with the man Greg had shot. Grissom and Joslyn got in the next one, Sara climbing in after them. There was no room for Greg in the back of the crowded truck, so he offered to follow along behind them in the Tahoe.

Grissom watched out the truck's window as an officer in the distance began to wind crime scene tape around the perimeter of the scene. This was supposed to be so simple. But, just like the rest of this case, it had become more complicated than any of them could have imagined. All they'd come to do was get the backpack, but it looked like the Senator, after interrogating Marjorie, had come to the same conclusion as they had. The envelope was the key.

Speaking of the envelope…

"Hey," Grissom turned to Sara, who was sitting in the space between the gurney he was sitting on, and the one that held Joslyn.

"I've got it right here," she said, not letting him finish his question. She held up the filthy backpack like the trophy that it was. It had nearly cost them all their lives. Both of them were thinking the same thing as she came to sit beside him on the gurney, resting her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her and they both looked on as the paramedic tended to Joslyn.

"She'll be okay, Sara. Greg got to her just in time. She may be a little water-logged, but she'll be okay."

Sara lifted her head, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Yeah, she'll be fine," she concurred, sounding like she was trying to convince herself but wasn't doing a very good job. She looked at him and leaned in, giving him a chaste kiss, which he reciprocated with warmth. "She _has_ to be okay," she continued, "Because I'm not ready to say goodbye." She put her head back down on his shoulder and thought about what might have happened had the bullet that grazed his arm been a few inches off its mark. "Not to anyone."


	11. The final showdown

_**Disclaimer: not mine, blah de blah.**_

_**A/N: OKAY. So . Sorry, sorry, sorry this took me so long, I hope you're all still interested, and furthermore I hope you can all remember just what's going on in the case. I myself had to go back a few times. There's no illness that I can blame this one on, simply my own procrastination and a slight hint of writer's block. Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait! It might start out slow but it picks up…the ending might be a bit controversial so let me know what you think. Love you all darlings! Thanks for waiting! -Solomynne**_

_Beep…beep…beep._

The sound of a heart monitor echoed softly in the otherwise silent hospital room. Earlier that night, halfway to Desert Palms, Joslyn's heart had stopped. Sara and Grissom had looked on in helpless horror as the paramedic had strapped an oxygen mask to her face, and began working furiously on her chest. Sara's vision had begun to spin out of control as she was forced to watch her young friend's lifeless body flop sickly under the pressure of the paramedic's powerful pumping fists.

That had been nearly 13 hours ago. Sara now sat staring, chin in her hands, at Joslyn's sleeping form. The doctor had later explained to her and Grissom that the combination of lack of oxygen (due to the rust particles in her nose and lungs), and the blow to the neck she had received from her assailant (her attacker had managed to strike directly onto the nerve bundle at the base of the skull) had caused her body to go into complete shock.

They had flushed out the rust from her eyes and respiratory tract, and all that they could do now was wait for her to wake up. Which is exactly what Sara had been doing for the past 11-½ hours since they'd brought her into the hospital room to rest. Sara scrubbed her face with her hand, rubbing her eyes vigorously. She wanted desperately to talk to Jos, to see once and for all that she really was okay.

She sighed and for the umpteenth time that day simultaneously thanked and reprimanded God. She thanked God for bringing Joslyn into her life in the first place; for showing her that life doesn't need to be lived in solitary confinement, and she reprimanded God for almost taking her away. She was going stir-crazy just waiting like this. At last she grabbed her jacket and turned to leave and get yet another stale coffee from the cafeteria, when she heard the rustle of bed sheets behind her. She turned and saw Joslyn looking back at her from the position she'd taken on her side, still too tired to lift her head from the pillow. They each stared at each other for a moment, the heart monitor keeping time.

Without breaking eye contact, Sara slowly put her jacket back into the chair and walked to the bedside. Joslyn pulled back the covers and made room for Sara, who climbed in next to her, lying down on her side. The young woman pulled the covers back over Sara's shoulders and closed her eyes again, curling up close to Sara's warm body. Sara's eyes filled with tears as she felt her friend's small form cuddling up to her, and she put an arm around Joslyn's back, pulling her closer until their foreheads rested on each other. It was only then that Sara finally felt assured that Joslyn wasn't going anywhere, and for the first time in nearly two days she allowed herself to close her eyes and sleep.

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Grissom, having long ago given up on the idea of trying to get Sara to leave Joslyn's side, had decided that while they were waiting he might as well be productive. He'd sent Greg back to the lab to get to work on processing that envelope, praying to God that it would be worth all the trouble they'd had in getting it. Greg hadn't been pleased at the idea of leaving Joslyn either, but after assurances from Grissom that Joslyn would be getting a full rendition of how Greg had heroically saved her life, he left with a scowl. Grissom would have gone himself, but he had other things to attend to. "Things," otherwise known as Marjorie Hudson. Marjorie was being treated for malnutrition and dehydration, but she had been left relatively unharmed otherwise.

Grissom pushed open the door to Marjorie's room. "Grissom," said Brass, looking up, "I was just coming to find you. It appears Marjorie would like to…_amend_ her previous statements." Grissom regarded the frail woman lying in the hospital bed, clutching her son's hand in anxiety.

"Yes," he said, sitting down beside her, "I imagine she would. Go ahead then, Marjorie, what have you not been telling us?"

She avoided his gaze like a guilty child, and then, gathering her courage, she began to speak: "When you asked me about the last time I'd seen the Senator…I lied to you. The last time I saw him, he and Trinity were having a screaming match in the kitchen at St. Mary's."

"Do you know what about?" he asked, his blue eyes searching her face. She was still holding something back.

Marjorie shook her head, still refusing to look at him. "No I know better than to get involved. I shut the doors to the kitchen and got the Hell out of dodge. But…afterwards, I went to check on them when I thought it was safe, and I walked in on the Senator wiping something up with a rag. And no," she cut him off before he could ask the question, "I didn't see what it was. But after he left, I found the bloody envelope, and I figured things had gotten physical."

"Did you suspect that he had killed her?" asked Grissom, paying close attention to her eyes, her hands. _What aren't you saying?_

"…No. No, but when he cancelled the charity camping trip I assumed he'd hurt her pretty badly. It wasn't until I spoke with you and your associates that I'd realized how far things had gone. I kept the envelope to use as a bargaining chip in case things got out of hand with my son, and his job trailing Trinity. But once the Senator found out I had it, he had some heavy-breathing sickos put a bag over my head and interrogate me in a warehouse until I gave up where I'd hidden it. And…and I think you know the rest of the story from there."

The whole time she'd been speaking, she hadn't taken her eyes off of her hands, kneading and folding the covers nervously. Grissom put a hand on hers, not out of comfort, but so she would be forced to look at him. As soon as their eyes met, hers started to fill with tears.

"Marjorie…" he began, " I think we both know there's more to the story than what you're telling me. When we found Trinity, she was crammed into an oil drum in the old strip joint near your soup kitchen." Marjorie winced at the thought. "We found fibers at the bottom of the barrel. They were blue silk, and my lab tells me that they're from a woman's blouse. As you admit to being the last known person to have seen her alive, I think it's time you amended your amendment."

Marjorie pressed her lips together until they were white as the sheet that she tugged at with her fingers.

Charlie was staring at her. "Mom…"

"Alright," she whispered. "There's more." She looked at the ceiling this time, instead of her hands. "I didn't want to tell you, Charlie, because I didn't want you to think any less of me. Mr. Grissom, when I walked into the kitchen, I saw Trinity on the floor, and the Senator standing over her with a skillet. She was dead. There was nothing that could be done. He told me that I'd end up the same way if I told anyone." The tears that had been brimming now spilled over the edge of her eyes, falling freely down her face. "He made me…" she took a breath, "he made me help him to get rid of the body, and clean up. He told me to wait a few days and then to call and complain about the smell, that way we'd seem more innocent."

Grissom patted her hand, this time out of compassion. "Thank you for your eventual honesty Marjorie. Although you are technically guilty of helping to dispose of a body, and conspiracy after the fact, I think the DA will be able to work out something with you, because of your co-operation."

Marjorie nodded mutely. Grissom stood and pulled Brass to the doorway, speaking in hushed tones. "I want a uniform with her and Charlie at all times, the last thing we need is to have our only two witnesses 'disappeared'".

"Got it," Brass acknowledged with a nod.

"I'll be back in Joslyn's room if you need anything," Grissom finished, turning. He walked down the hall, the shiny linoleum squeaking under his shoes as the florescent lights hummed above him like a hive of bees. He turned the corner and pushed open Joslyn's door with an open hand, the sight that met his eyes causing him to stop. Sara lay asleep in the hospital bed, nose to nose with Joslyn, who was also in a deep sleep. Sara's arm was slung lazily over Joslyn's slender shoulder, her hand hanging loosely.

Sara stirred, sending his presence, and Grissom took a step forward to stop her from getting up. "Go back to sleep," he whispered, "You could use the rest."

"Where were you?" she asked, her voice gravelly with sleep.

"I went and had a very interesting discussion with Marjorie Hudson," he said, smoothing the hair on her forehead gently.

"Oh?" she murmured, closing her eyes at his touch. Grissom smiled. If she were a cat she would be purring by now.

"Yes. It would appear she wasn't being entirely honest with us."

"Well there's a shocker," she mumbled, melting as his fingers raked her scalp gently. "What did she say exactly?"

"That she's been protecting the Senator, most likely because she knew he'd kill her if she didn't. She also admitted to helping him dispose of the body." Grissom was distracted by his storytelling, and hadn't noticed that he'd stopped petting her until she opened her eyes and placed his hand back on her head. She closed her eyes again after he'd gotten her not-so-subtle hint and resumed. "So why the change of heart?" she asked.

"Probably because she's realized he'll most likely try to kill her after this. Plus I think she's pissed off at being held hostage for the past few days," he added.

"Understandably," she conceded. "She's an intelligent woman. She knows her best chance for survival is if he's behind bars."

"Precisely," agreed Grissom, brushing a thumb over the last of Sara's facial bruises. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "They're almost gone now," he mused.

"Mm," was her reply, "I got rid of the sling too." She smiled, "And you, who pride yourself on your attention to detail, didn't even notice."

He looked and realized that she was right; both of her arms were free. "When did that happen?" he asked, running his hand across the length of her arm.

"I got the doctor to cut it off when he was in here checking on Jos. It had become more of a hindrance than a help in more ways than one," she eyed him suggestively. He gave her a classic Grissom smirk.

"So what now?" she asked, deftly changing the subject. "Where do we go from here, case-wise?"

"I think as soon as the envelope's been processed and our suspicions have been confirmed we'll have to schedule another "meeting" with the good Senator."

Sara sighed, taking his hand and sandwiching it between her own absentmindedly. "I am not looking forward to _that_ interview."

"Well you don't have to sit in if you don't want to," he replied, watching her play with his fingers, bending them up and down like a child does to its mother. He took his other hand and pushed down the collar of her shirt with his thumb, inspecting the healing shoulder.

She narrowed her eyes at him, "You're joking, right?"

"Sorry," he answered wryly, "a momentary lapse in judgment,"

"Quite alright," she answered demurely, once more closing her eyes. "I just don't want to leave Jos here all alone."

"Oh you won't have to," came Joslyn's naturally gravelly voice, "I'll be right there with you."

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"Joslyn, so nice to see you're feeling better," Grissom said honestly. "And I think it would be a better idea for you to stay here a while longer."

"The Hell it is!" she exclaimed as she sat upright, her blonde hair tumbling wildly around her shoulders. "Sara and I nearly got ourselves killed bringing this case home, do you really think that I'm going to miss out on the moment when we finally catch this bastard?"

Grissom looked to Sara in exasperation, hoping she would mediate, but she was no help. She merely shrugged a shoulder and said, "Well you can hardly argue with that."

The truth was Sara was right; Joslyn had earned the right to be present at the final interrogation. They both had. Joslyn was staring at him intensely with fierce green eyes, daring him to say no. He almost laughed when he realized that the look on her face reminded him of Sara.

"Alright," he sighed, giving in. "But don't blame me if you end up right back here in the hospital."

Joslyn grinned and settled herself back on the pillows. " I assure you I feel fine. My eyes burn a little, my neck feels like it's been in a vice grip all night, and my lungs feel like they've shrunk to about half their normal size, but other than that I feel fine."

"Oh well if that's all then," said Sara sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Excuse me, but remind me again who it is that's been working with a dislocated shoulder, twelve stitches and a banged-up face?" asked Joslyn with a glare.

Sara's eyes stopped mid-roll. "Alright, fair enough."

"Thank you," said Joslyn with a hint of triumph in her voice.

"Well," sighed Grissom, standing, "I'm glad to see that at the very least neither of you have injured your tongues. Now if you're both feeling well enough, we should try to get you discharged, Joslyn."

He left to find a doctor who could sign out Joslyn, leaving the two women tucked in bed. Sara shifted back onto her side, facing Joslyn who was lying in her back with her eyes closed. The sun was shining merrily in through the window, making a silhouette of Joslyn's profile as she lay back against the pillow. Sara watched her breathing in and out, noting that Joslyn was now sporting some facial bruises to match her own. "I feel like I'm at a slumber party or something," she mused.

Joslyn laughed, her eyes still closed. "Yeah, that, or we should be smoking cigarettes. And has anyone ever told you that you're really comfortable to cuddle with?" she asked in a mock-serious voice, opening an eye to look at Sara. "Grissom is a lucky man, let me tell you."

Sara swatted at her, laughing. After a while with her own thoughts she became serious. "Hey Jos?"

"Mm-hmm?" Joslyn acknowledged sleepily.

"I'm really glad you're okay," she finished simply. She'd wanted to say a lot more than that, but she couldn't bring herself to. She suddenly realized what it must feel like for Grissom when he would start trying to tell her about his feelings for her.

Joslyn blinked her eyes and looked up at Sara. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, fiddling with the IV on the back of her hand instead. After a time, she smiled softly to herself, smoothing the tape down on the needle, and said, "Me too."

It seemed that she too had a lot more to say, but like Sara had opted on simplicity. Sara had learned from her experiences with Grissom that when it came to people she was close with; as far as words were concerned, less is more. She was reminded of one of her favourite sayings: talk is cheap.

Grissom walked in with his nose buried in a manila casefile, Sara and Joslyn both looking up as he entered. "Are those the results from the envelope?" asked Sara eagerly as he took his seat beside the bed.

"Yes it is," said Grissom, glancing up at her over his slipping glasses. She leaned over and as had become custom, ran her long finger up his nose, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He held her eye contact for a beat before looking back down into the file.

"Well!" asked Joslyn impatiently. "What's it say?" Her lips broke into a smile at the anticipation of nailing the Senator to the wall.

Grissom looked up at the two eager faces staring back at him. The sunlight filtered through their hair. Their faces; each beautiful in their own way, and each now marred with bruises, watched him, hanging on his every word.

He had nothing but respect for them. They had been bruised, beaten, broken, and they'd each come back for more. He was glad now that he would be the one to say the words that would end the nightmare they'd gotten themselves tangled up in.

"Grissom!" hissed Joslyn, grasping Sara's arm in angst, "What's it say?"

Grissom smiled gently, adjusting his glasses before saying, "The blood was a match to Trinity. They also found a partial print in the blood spatter, meaning whoever it belongs to was present at Trinity's time of death."

"And?" asked Sara, voice hushed in anticipation, "whose print is it?"

Grissom paused for effect, flipping the folder around so they could see the results for themselves. "Senator Sullivan Wescott."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The air in the interrogation room was hot, and heavy with frustration. Sara and Joslyn sat opposite a fuming Senator Wescott, the disappointment of a so-far very futile interrogation evident on their faces.

They had confronted the Senator with their findings, and the signed statements from Charlie and Marjorie, but so far he had remained completely tight-lipped except to deny, deny, deny.

The Senator faced them, palms flat on the table, a thin layer of sweat visible on his upper lip. The fact that he was perspiring could have been due to the fact that it was stifling hot in the room, but Joslyn chose to believe it was because he was cracking. The steely mask he's entered the room with was slipping, slowly being replaced with one of ashen concern. But it didn't look like he was ready to give in just yet.

They both knew that they were going to have to push him over the edge if they were going to get a confession out of him, and that meant getting dirty.

"Look," started Sara, leaning her forearms on the table, "we know you killed your daughter." She squinted at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but all he did was snort and look away. "You can deny it all you want," she pushed, "but we have you and you know it. We don't need a confession."

His eyes flew to her, "Then why the Hell have I been stuck in this sauna for the past 45 minutes!"

Sara and Joslyn just glared at him. The truth was that although they had irrefutable physical evidence against him, the kind of lawyers this guy could afford had an uncanny gift for being able to make even the most solid evidence seem like flimsy guesswork to a panel of jurors. So even though the envelope was still immeasurably valuable, a confession of guilt could be pivotal to the case. After all, not even the most expensive lawyer in the world can argue with a signed confession.

The Senator stared at them, waiting for a response. Joslyn glanced to the two-way mirror to her right, knowing that the rest of the team, and Gloria Settler, Trinity's girlfriend, stood behind it. They'd all come out for the final showdown.

She looked from the mirror to Sara, who immediately knew what she was thinking: if they didn't make some progress soon, Brass was going to come in and take over. Sara's head was starting to pound in the heat of the small room. Just what was with the lack of air conditioning? She was about to turn to the officer in the room and get him to check the thermostat when she noticed that Joslyn was still looking at her. Well, staring at her, actually, and in the strangest of ways. A very subtle Cheshire cat smile played across the younger woman's lips as it became obvious that she had come up with an idea.

A _wonderfully, awfully, awful idea._

Joslyn leaned in close to Sara, her breath hot on Sara's ear as she spoke in the barest of whispers, "_Whatever I do or say, just go along with it. Whatever happens, he has to believe we're for real if this is going to work_."

Sara replied with a barely perceptible nod, and Joslyn turned her attention back to the Senator, who was looking from one to the other suspiciously. "Senator Wescott," she started softly, "why is it that you neglected to tell us that your daughter was gay?"

The Senator bristled, "Trinity was _not _gay, how dare you even suggest it!"

"So this…"Joslyn referred to the completely blank sheet of paper she held in front of her, "Gloria Settler is just creating a fictitious relationship between herself and your daughter?"

"Yes," he growled. "Gloria is a very disturbed young woman."

"I see," responded Joslyn patronizingly. "So tell me, just what exactly _is_ your opinion on homosexuality? Because with an election coming up, I'm sure the citizens of Las Vegas would be interested to know where you stand."

At the mention of an election the senator became once again calm and composed, the politician in him kicking in. "Of course what people do in the privacy of their own bedrooms is their business," he replied coolly, automatically.

"Oh really?" asked Jos in mock surprise. "Well that's good, then it won't bother you to know that Ms. Sidle and I are partners in more ways than one." Just as calmly and coolly as he, she slid her hand across the table and laid it to rest on top of Sara's. Sara, taking that as her cue, raised her knuckles so their fingers were interlaced.

XX

Behind the glass, seven very shocked pairs of eyes were glued to the scene unfolding before them. Catherine looked to Greg, "You were working with them, did you know about this?"

Greg ran a hand through his spiky hair, "News to me!"

Everyone turned to Grissom who was still staring through the glass, a finger pressed to his lips. "They're not really lovers. This is a plan – and may I say a very good one – designed to rock this guy's foundation and get under his skin."

"How can you be so sure they're not really together?" asked Warrick, glancing to his two co-workers through the glass.

Grissom's mind flashed to the image of Sara's face looking up at him lovingly from where she lay on the pillows. "I just know."

XX

The room, if possible, seemed to have gotten even hotter as the tension continued to rise. "As I said before," choked the Senator, a vein becoming visible throbbing in his forehead, "it's none of my business."

"Why is it then that you have such a hard time admitting the truth about your daughter?" Sara shot venomously across the table.

The Senator's collected manner shattered as his face turned a sickening shade of violet. "She was NOT a-"

"Give it up Sullivan!" Joslyn shouted. "Did you think we processed the outside of the envelope, but not the inside! It was a wedding invitation for your daughter and Gloria, and it drove you to kill her!"

The Senator's eyes were blazing as he managed a strangled, "No…"

"YES," Joslyn hissed through her teeth. "Your desire to win the election outweighed your love for your daughter, if you ever had any at all. You couldn't have her risking your precious votes now, could you?"

The Senator said nothing his jaw working but no sound coming out.

"That, and the fact that the thought of her with another woman sickened you to your very core," Joslyn continued, her voice dropping to an accusatory whisper. Sara glanced at her as she felt Joslyn's hot fingers grip her own even tighter. "You couldn't stand the thought of her loving another woman…" she looked to Sara.

"…touching another woman…" she ran a hand up the brunette's arm.

"…kissing another woman…" and with those words she put the final touch on her plan, giving the Senator that last blow he needed to push him off the edge. She cupped a hand under Sara's chin and pulled Sara's face close to her own, their lips meeting in a passionate – or at least seemingly so – and brilliant display of lust.

If Sara was taken by surprise she didn't show it, instead lifting a hand to run it through Joslyn's silky hair.

The Senator was beyond words at this point, gaping at the display before him with a mixed expression of disgust, horror, and fascination on his magenta-hued face.

Back behind the glass the eyes of the spectators flew from the seething Senator, to their co-workers, and back again. Greg had unwittingly pressed his nose against the glass, willing himself not to blink lest he miss something. He watched as he saw Sara's fingers running through Joslyn's hair, the other one coming to rest on her partner's hip.

"So…hot…" he choked, his breath fogging up the glass.

"Down boy," said Catherine, pulling him back by the shirt collar without taking her eyes off the two women as brown hair mixed with blonde. The Senator was visibly shaking with rage now, his right eye twitching maniacally. Finally, not being able to contain himself any longer, he stood up and lunged across the table, grabbing each woman by a shoulder and forcing them apart.

"That's enough!" he bellowed, "You people are disgusting!"

The officer stepped in and pulled the raving politician away from the women before he could do them any harm, holding him tight against the back of his chair. Joslyn and Sara glanced at each other, lips swollen from being caught up in the moment, and then looked back to the Senator, praying their little display would be enough to crack him.

"You're just as bad as she is!" the Senator spat, "the filthy little bitch had the audacity to invite me to her '_wedding,'" _he scoffed. " I told her," he shook his head back and forth, now only a shadow of the steely eyed politician he'd been when they first met, "I told her what I'd do if she kept up with her indiscretions. And what does she do? She tries to get married!" he began to laugh like a lunatic, slapping the table so the two women jumped. When he'd finished his fit of giggles enough to speak, he continued, "Married!"

He repeated the word like it was the punch line of a hilarious joke. "Well I bet you can guess what I did after that!"

Sara spoke gravely, "You killed her."

The Senator began to laugh again, "Well I had to didn't I? She didn't give me much of a choice now did she?" He howled with laughter. "I cracked her one with that skillet that was on the table!" (More laughter) "And boy you can bet she didn't take well to that!" (Giggle) "No sir she didn't! But I _told_ her that's what would happen you see, so it's not like I didn't give her fair warning."

He continued to laugh softly to himself until Joslyn leaned forward across the table, Brass and Grissom walking into the room to flank the two of them as she spoke in a hushed whisper, "Well then Senator, I feel it only right to give you your own "fair warning."

The Senator laughed in her face, " And what warning might that be, m'dear?"

Joslyn narrowed her eyes, her lips white with anger, "You're under arrest."

The Senator stopped mid-giggle. Any sign of humor was wiped from his face as the officer came up behind him and slapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists, pulling him to his feet. He looked back to the two women as he was being dragged away, a look of incredulity on his face, and swore he saw the brunette one mouth the word:

"Gotcha."

_**A/N so what'd you think? Hit that lovely purple button and tell me! I'm not afraid of criticism, I swear! Revieeeeeeeeeeeeew. **_


	12. Newer beginnings

hello, remember me? i didn't think so. but for anyone who might care, i FINALLY got around to finishing this thing. i have an excuse, do you want to hear it? i moved! and i know it doesn't take 5 months to get settled in, buuut it was that mixed in with new job, new college classes, and lots of writer's block. so can you forgive me? i hope so! and i just wanted to thank all of you who have read and reviewed in the past, it means a lot. and a special thanks to gracie, for being such a lovely thing, and ally, who you can all thank for kicking my ass into gear. all the love and gsr in the world: solomynne. ps my new laptop has no microsoft word so please forgive any mistakes!

Disclaimer: no. no they are not. mine, that is.  
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We begin to stop, merely to begin again. – Maya Angelou.

The echoes of Sullivan Wescott's laughter reverberated, wild and desperate, through the glass hallways of CSI, ringing in the ears of the three exhausted investigators seated in the vacated interrogation room. Men like the senator never seemed to be able to go quietly, it was always a "my lawyer," this and an "I'll sue you all," that. Sullivan was no different, shooting empty threats between renewed bouts of maniacal giggles.

After what seemed like an eternity, the last embers of his ceaseless ramblings faded as he was escorted from the building. Sara, Grissom, and Joslyn sat in a subdued silence, each digesting the events of the last hour. Grissom looked up at the two women's faces and saw the mixture of emotions battling for dominance there. The anger, the fear, but most of all the relief, were all clearly visible playing across their broken features.

"It's over," Sara said softly to her hands, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself of the fact than anything. Joslyn nodded her head vaguely in agreement, propping her chin in her hand. Grissom looked from one to the other, fighting the urge to drop a reassuring kiss on top of Joslyn's head, and the even stronger urge to pull Sara from her chair into his lap and wrap his arms around her. Before he had a chance to give in to himself, Brass walked into the room and plopped himself unceremoniously into the seat beside Sara.

"Well girls, although I myself would never use your…tactics of getting a confession out of someone, I have to say it couldn't have worked better." Sara and Joslyn gave each other a flickering smile. "The guy will either go straight to jail, or straight to the loony bin, but either way he's out of our hair. And the FBI is going to be investigating the Hands of Mercy Corporation on suspicion of drug trafficking, so there's that taken care of. Oh and one last thing, it appears Marjorie Pierce left a little another little something out of her last statement."

Grissom sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Now what?"

"It would appear that she was "Mr. X."

"What?!" said both Sara and Joslyn at once.

"Do you mean to tell me that I let myself get freaked out by a fifty-something year old string bean?" hollered Joslyn.

Grissom put a hand on hers, "You had no way of knowing that it was her, Joslyn, there's no need to be embarrassed. We were all scared of what X might do, and regardless of how old she is, she still made death threats against you both."

"Embarrassed? Who's embarrassed? I'm pissed off," said Sara, kicking herself for not noticing the now obvious feminine scrawl the death threat was written with.

"Well Marjorie says she had no intention of hurting either of you, in fact she was trying to scare you into staying away from the case so you wouldn't be hurt," clarified Brass.

"Well either way, it's over now," said Grissom with an air of finality.

Greg popped his head into the doorway, "Hey ladies, thanks for the show. I've actually been hoping to improve my interrogation skills, perhaps one or both of you would care to-"

"-Greg," interrupted Grissom, "is there anything we can help you with?" Greg, looking slightly dejected, told them that everyone was going to Frank's for a celebratory breakfast. "We'll meet you there," answered Grissom, turning back to the others. "Unless you're too tired?"

"No, I'd love to go," answered Sara, who was seconded by Joslyn. They all got up to leave, Grissom and Brass heading to the parking lot. Sara was right behind them until she felt a hand on her wrist, turning to see Joslyn looking up at her. The expression on her young partner's face was enough to make her stop in her tracks. "What's wrong?"

Joslyn bit her lip; "I just wanted to say sorry for catching you off-guard like that. If I made you uncomfortable, it really wasn't intentional. I just wanted to get the Senator so badly, and … that was the only thing I could think of that would make him angry enough."

Sara smiled, "Joslyn, you don't have to apologize, I thought it was brilliant. And it's not like I've never kissed another woman before, everyone experiments."

Joslyn sighed with relief, "Well I'm so glad you're not offended."

"Offended? Please, if the worst thing you can think of to make me angry is kissing me, I think this will be a great friendship," she laughed and put an arm around Joslyn's shoulders as they headed for the parking lot.

"And where'd you learn to kiss like that anyway?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sara couldn't remember ever having a more satisfying breakfast. The eggs (organic and free range, it was the only way she ate them) and hash browns she'd

ordered at Frank's were exactly what she needed after the day she'd had. Leaning back in her chair, warm and full, she looked around the table at her co-

workers. Nick and Joslyn were laughing about something, Nick's eyes crinkling in that adorable way, and Joslyn's deep throaty laughter filling the restaurant

as she threw her head back in mirth. Sara smiled at them, and glanced over at Warrick and Catherine, who were picking off of each other's plates; deep in

conversation about a case Catherine was working. The sound of Grissom's voice pulled her attention away from them, and she looked to see Grissom using Greg's

french fries to demonstrate a theory he'd heard at a seminar.

Grissom noticed her watching and caught her eye, raising his eyebrows in a "are you okay?" gesture. She nodded at him and smiled warmly, and satisfied, he

resumed his teachings.

And for once she was okay, she really was. She was safe and happy, all the people she loved surrounded her, and she had just thrown a ruthless murderer in

jail. She felt pretty damn good. And the fact that Grissom had finally admitted his feelings for her definitely didn't hurt. No, she didn't mind that at all.

The exhaustion of the past little while starting to take its toll on her, Sara stifled a yawn with drooping eyes. Grissom watched this with fondness, and

then took his cue in his new role as...boyfriend? It sounded so juvenile. Lover? Soon perhaps. Devotee? It would have to do. So, with a quick nod toward the waitress, their cheques were placed on the table, and the familiar, "no, no, I'LL pay" banter began. Warrick, after a long

and valiant battle, payed for himself and Catherine, and the two of them left. They were quickly followed by Nick, Greg, and Joslyn, the latter of which gave

Sara a knowing wink and a pat on the head. Sara and Grissom sat alone at the table, and the atmosphere was...slightly awkward.  
"Well," Grissom began, fidgeting with his glasses, "why don't i take you home." It wasn't a question.  
Sara, feeling a little disappointed, rose with a wordless nod and began to head for the door. Wasn't he going to give her his answer about what he really

thought of her? Wasn't he going to keep his promise? The fear that he might pull a Grissom and try to duck out of all of this like nothing had happened

between them washed over her. It was only when he placed a warm, steady hand on the small of her back that a faint glimmer of hope rose in her heart. She

felt his breath hot on her ear as he whispered: "Would you be opposed to a little company this evening"  
Her heart melted as she turned to him, smiling and replied: "Oh no, i'd rather not have anyone over, if it's all the same"  
The light in his eyes went out, until she quickly finished with: "You see, I'll be wanting you all to myself."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sara attacked him before they'd even gotten out of the car. He'd been unbuckling his seatbelt when she, with a wonderful display of agility and grace, slid

herself into his lap and kissed him hard. Though surprised, it took him no time at all to recover, as he ran his hands up the smooth thighs that were

straddling him. She laughed and rocked gently in his lap, making her way down his jawline and neck in sweet, slow nips and kisses. Grissom, in heaven though

he was, knew that this isn't how either of them wanted it to be, and with all of the willpower he had, he managed to lift her head and speak to her lovely,

lust-filled eyes.  
"Inside"  
She nodded quickly, her lips red and full, and slid off of him with that same graceful ease. They - somehow - made it out to her apartment without

consummating their relationship, and Sara sluggishly fumbled with her keys; half drunk with desire and exhaustion. Grissom gently took the keys from her hand

and moved her aside, opening the door for her. She gave him a playful glare as she led him inside by the hand and closed the door.  
She drove the lock home and turned slowly to face him, her skin pale in the dark of the apartment. "Now where were we?" She spoke in a husky whisper, her

brown eyes glittering. He stepped forward and lifted her up, surprising her with his strength. She gasped and smiled, wrapping her legs around him as she

simultaneously tore her shirt over her head and tossed it away. He kissed her, first gently, and then deeper, harder. She stopped and pulled away, looking down at him with her tousled, curly hair.  
"Wait"  
"what? Is something wrong"  
"Aren't you going to tell me"  
He just looked at her with a blank stare. She sighed and rolled her eyes, "You said you were going to tell me how you really felt about me. Once and for all"  
He looked up at her solemnly. "I did say that, didn't i." She nodded slowly.  
Still holding her, he carried her to the kitchen and placed her gently on the countertop. She kept her legs wrapped around him, wanting - needing - to be

close to him, to touch him; but also needing to hear the words she'd been waiting for for seven years. He reached up and pushed a tendril of her hair behind

her ears, and said softly, so she could barely hear him at first, "I think you're the most amazing woman i've ever met. You're brilliant, strong,

compassionate, honest, and honest to god, the most beautiful woman i have ever seen up close. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I've always admired you for

your determination, (he kissed her) for you drive, (and another) for your fire, (and again) for everything that is you, because i love you, and no one else

can ever even come close to being able to compare." He let out a breath. "That's what i think of you, really"  
She sat, stunned, for a moment or two as all of that washed over her. She certainly hadn't been expecting that, not that she was complaining. Her eyes welled

up with tears as the reality of it sunk in: Grissom loved her. He LOVED her. And the only conceivable response she could think to utter was:  
"I love you too"  
He kissed her face and swept her off the counter, slinging her over her shoulder as she laughed uncontrollably, and tossing her onto the bed. She looked up at him, and he admired her beautiful face for the millionth time since he'd met her. He drank in the sight of her looking up at him, her flat belly smooth and delicious, wild curls splayed on the bed.  
"I love you," she whispered, and pulled her onto him.  
He smiled, and they told each other just exactly what they thought of one another for the rest of the night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun was setting on the strip, and Sara and Joslyn sat in silence on Sara's deck, enjoying each other's company. Grissom and Greg could be heard inside

the apartment, the familiar sounds of food being prepared filtered through the deck screen. Catherine, Nick, and Warrick would be arriving within the next

half hour, they'd all planned a get together to enjoy some well deserved relaxation time.  
Sara looked at Joslyn, the pink glow of the setting sun illuminating her face and brilliant green eyes, dancing off her golden hair. Joslyn was staring at

the sunset, seeing and not seeing. Sara watched her for a moment, confused at the sadness and disappointment she saw; and then she realized.  
"You're leaving, aren't you"  
Joslyn's eyes closed at the hurt and shock in Sara's voice. She couldn't bear to look into those bottomless brown eyes, she was too afraid of what she might

see there. Anger, sorrow, pain. But she had to look. She tore her gaze from the sky and locked eyes with her former supervisor.  
"I don't know yet," she responded softly. She refused to look at Sara, lest she see something in those bottomless brown eyes she didn't want to see. "My

apprentice program is over. I passed."Sara looked at her in disbelief. Was this really happening? Was she really on the verge of losing one of the only

friends she ever had? "I'm scheduled to be transferred back to Yale." Her voice was cracking with emotion. She rested her face against the cool bars of Sara's balcony, letting two

secret tears slip form under her closed lids and slide silently down her face, plummeting from her chin to the streets below.  
"Jos," Sara scooted beside up beside her and rested her head on Jos's. She had been planning on saying something selfless, like "Do whatever you feel is

right," or, "I just want what's best for you," but what slipped out of her mouth was the selfish, pleading thought that had been running through her mind

throughout the whole conversation.  
"Joslyn, please stay"  
Joslyn looked up at her with what looked like a hint of relief in her eyes and said, "i already applied for my final year of courses at UNLV but i won't know

if there's enough spaces until next week"  
Sara's smile stretched a mile wide, because she knew for a fact tht one word from Grissom would land her a permanent place in any forensics class she could

ever want to take. Joslyn was staying, and Grissom was hers, and life was starting to make just a little more sense. Grissom and Greg both looked

up from their dicing and sautee-ing to share a look over the sound of two roaring cackles bouncing off the walls. One a deep, pleasing belly laugh, and the

other a rich, high pitched cackle.  
Their laughter lasted a long time, long after they got tears in their eyes and cramps in their guts. It was the laughter of two people who had no idea what

was to come, only that whatever it was, they would face it together.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx sorry again for the wait! ps GSR is canon, squeeeeeeeeeeeee! 


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